


saudade

by medjedt



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Back Together, M/M, POV Alternating, Post-Break Up, Slow Burn, minor OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-01-21 12:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21299459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/medjedt/pseuds/medjedt
Summary: “How the hell did you get my new address?”Akaashi’s accusatory tone pierced Koutarou’s chest like a bolt of lightning, freezing him in place. The housewarming gift he’d bought his new mystery neighbor—a set of small hand towels, with a cute owl pattern—fell to the ground from his twitching, outstretched arm. One of the owls looked up at him with wide-eyed sympathy, contrasting sharply with Akaashi’s cold glare.Koutarou tried to recover himself, but the specifics of the situation made it truly difficult. Out here in Kyoto, he shouldn’t seeanyonefrom Tokyo, save for his sister and her kids. If it had to be anyone he had once known, he would have hoped it would be someone who actually liked him. But alas, his new neighbor just had to be someone who found him intolerable (and most likely hated his guts): his ex-teammate, ex-roommate, and ex-boyfriend, one Akaashi Keiji.ORAkaashi Keiji moves to Kyoto, and finds he has accidentally moved into an apartment right next to his ex, Bokuto Koutarou. Emotions ensue.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 45
Kudos: 260





	1. swallowtail butterfly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *doesn't make a dent in kinktober but tries to participate in nanowrimo anyway*
> 
> not tagging this as a nanowrimo thing bc I likely won't have the time/material to get to 50k, but I'm going to update and write as much as I can in the time I have. anyway, this fic idea has been stewing in my head for a few months so I finally decided to buckle down and write it, enjoy! 
> 
> cw: swearing, smoking, drinking

“How the hell did you get my new address?”

Akaashi’s accusatory tone pierced Koutarou’s chest like a bolt of lightning, freezing him in place. The housewarming gift he’d bought his new mystery neighbor—a set of small hand towels, with a cute owl pattern—fell to the ground from his twitching, outstretched arm. One of the owls looked up at him with wide-eyed sympathy, contrasting sharply with Akaashi’s cold glare. 

Koutarou tried to recover himself, but the specifics of the situation made it truly difficult. Out here in Kyoto, he shouldn’t see _anyone_ from Tokyo, save for his sister and her kids. If it had to be anyone he had once known, he would have hoped it would be someone who was impartial to him, or someone who could at least tolerate him. He would never have hoped, dreamed, or even considered that his new neighbor would be someone who found him intolerable (and most likely hated his guts): his ex-teammate, ex-roommate, and ex-boyfriend, one Akaashi Keiji. 

Chewing up the pill and forcing it down dry, Koutarou straightened and took up a defensive pose, arms petulantly crossed and brow narrowed. “Why would I want your address? I was just here to greet my new neighbor, but I wouldn’t have bothered if I knew it was _you_!”

The disgusted tone he had adopted didn’t sit well with his conscience, but the fresh wound Akaashi had inflicted on Koutarou’s ego had urged him to return the favor. However, Akaashi didn’t look nearly as offended or hurt as Koutarou likely had at his initial barb. He just looked pissed off.

“Neighbor? You cannot be serious.”

Koutarou’s brows narrowed even more. Placing one hand on his hip, he leaned to the side to tap the neighboring apartment door’s name plaque. He read the kanji aloud, purposefully as obnoxious as possible, “Boku-To. How many Bokuto’s have you met in your life, A-kaaa-shi?” 

Akaashi opened the door fully, and mirrored Koutarou’s posture. His eyebrow twitched in a way that let Koutarou know he was truly peeved. “Too many. Why the hell are you in Kyoto, anyway?”

Not willing to be vulnerable around Akaashi ever again, he side-stepped the question. “What, Konoha or one of them didn’t tell you?” He accidentally let his tone slip into curiosity, forgetting his anger. 

Akaashi seemed to forget as well, and crossed his arms, looking away from Koutarou to the floor. “I don’t really talk to anyone from school anymore. Not frequently.” His gaze studied the fallen hand towels listlessly, his brow furrowed. 

Koutarou relaxed his posture a bit with a sigh, and ran his fingers through his hair to cool his nerves. “Understandable, we’ve all kinda got our own lives now...” The sharp tension born out of their surprise meeting suddenly simmered, diffusing into something more obtuse and awkward. A silence was shared between them, uncomfortably. 

Akaashi’s gaze flitted to Koutarou’s face, and his lips parted to say something, but Koutarou interrupted him with a groan. Bending down, he scooped up the towels. He held them out to Akaashi, pinched between his forefinger and thumb like one might hold out trash. “Look, I don’t want these and threw out the receipt, so just take them.”

After a moment, Akaashi’s gaze returned to the towels, and after another, he took them from Koutarou. At this, Koutarou immediately spun on his heel, turning back to his own apartment. Not meeting Akaashi’s gaze, which he felt was back on his face, he spoke dismissively, “Yeah, welcome to the complex or whatever. I’ll stay out of your life as much as I can. Goodnight.”

Entering his apartment, Koutarou put his head in his hands and groaned loudly. At the same time, Akaashi’s door slammed with an exasperated but muffled, “Goddamnit!”

_Oh yeah, the walls are thin._

__

__

_Great._

* * *

Of course, of all the people Keiji had to run into in Kyoto, it would be Bokuto. And no, it couldn’t just be an accidental run-in on the street, or an unfortunate encounter at his job or at the store. Bokuto just had to be in the worst place possible: right fucking next to him.

The first week he spent in the city, one in which he was supposed to get accustomed to his new home and surroundings, turned into pure torture. The walls were so thin that he could hear everything in Bokuto’s apartment; every sound, no matter how mundane, reminded him of the other’s existence and made his head and heart ache. Desperately, he searched for an escape, but alas: he was locked into his lease for at least half a year, and there were no similarly priced options close to his new firm. 

He would have to grin and bear it. That would likely be easier when he actually began his new job, and didn’t have to be at the house. Right? Right.

Wrong. 

Bokuto’s morning routine seemed to perfectly align with his own. At 6 a.m., as Keiji left for the station, Bokuto returned from his morning run. At 5 p.m., when Keiji returned and checked his mailbox, Bokuto was in the midst of checking his mail as well. At 7 p.m., when Keiji stepped out to buy smokes and dinner at the nearby konbini, Bokuto was once again returning from a run. He wasn’t even free on the balcony—as he fiddled for his lighter, he heard Bokuto’s sliding glass door open and shut. Too drained to make his presence known, Keiji sat in silence, and crushed his pack of cigarettes in his fist out of frustration. 

Hoping Bokuto would take a hint and shift his schedule around Keiji’s to indeed “stay out of his life”, Keiji continued his routine. However, the other pointedly changed nothing, and now even greeted Keiji each time they crossed paths. Begrudgingly, Keiji now returned his greetings with a curt nod. 

They were both too stubborn for their own good.

* * *

Two weeks in and Koutarou was (regrettably) dying to talk to Akaashi again. Seeing the other’s face everyday outside of photographs and his own memory had brought back a tangle of emotions Koutarou didn’t know how to deal with. Though some of these emotions still pricked him like thistle, some resembled the very first emotions Koutarou had ever felt towards the other: namely, selfish fascination and concern.

_Why is he in Kyoto? What’s his new job? It can’t pay too well if this apartment is all he could afford. He graduated, right? Is he getting his master’s like he said he would, or is he done with school? Taking a break, maybe?_

The musings would start and stop randomly, at first only cropping up after his encounters with Akaashi in the morning and evenings. However, they eventually reached a point where they pervaded his entire day, floating into his consciousness nearly every hour he was awake.

Swallowing his pride, one afternoon at the mailboxes, he cleared his throat loudly. “Uh... I’m sorry,” he began clumsily, fighting the urge to bite his lip. Instead, he clenched his fingers tighter against the hood of his mailbox as he held it open. “I know I said I was gonna stay out of your life and stuff but I think it’s been established that’s pretty much impossible now.”

Akaashi didn’t respond, but the stillness let Koutarou know he was listening to him, not ignoring him.

“I’ve just been dying to ask, what—I mean, what exactly are you doing right now, for work? You finished your degree, right?”

Akaashi shut his mailbox, and though he responded, he did not turn to face Koutarou directly. “Yes, last year. Right now I’m working communications for a law firm.” Anticipating Koutarou’s next question, he continued, “Basically, I sit at a desk sending emails and planning meetings all day. Exciting stuff.” His tone was bored and dismissive, but he still turned to ask Koutarou, “How about you?”

Shocked, Koutarou floundered for a minute, mouth convulsing comically, his eyes widening. Looking sheepishly to the side, he answered honestly, “I dropped out in my third year. Moved here a couple months after.” 

“Oh, so college really wasn’t for you, after all?” 

Though his tone was flat, Koutarou still knew Keiji well enough to sense the condescension. His stomach dropped and his cheeks flushed as embarrassment coursed through him, making his lips twitch into a frown. Flashes of memories came flooding back to him at Keiji’s words: his desperate struggling during one of his and Keiji’s tutoring sessions; his frustrated crying  
after an incomprehensible lecture; the depression he went into after failing an entire semester his second year.

Having gone with Koutarou through all of it, Keiji had likely drawn on the same memories to make such a hurtful barb, making it cut all the more deep. He could feel his face screwing up with tears, and hurriedly willed them away as he responded dejectedly, “Yeah, guess so.”

He wanted to tell Keiji about his own plans, his own job, his own interests. About how he was saving up to go back to school, about how he found a program that would accept him if he retook the classes he had failed as a second-year.

But Keiji’s meanness told him clearly that the other didn’t care anymore. Unlike Koutarou, Keiji’s feelings hadn’t reverted to how they’d been back in high school. Instead, like many others, Keiji could no longer tolerate him, and made it plainly known. 

So instead of picking a fight with Akaashi, or trying to continue to conversation, Koutarou dropped it, not looking up as Akaashi ascended the stairs back to his apartment. He stared at the metal of the mailbox for a few long minutes, before shutting it gently and bringing his hands back down to his sides. 

_Damnit._

* * *

“Wow, seriously? Isn’t the one who got dumped supposed to be the one who’s mean and bitter?” Kuroo’s deep voice crackled tactlessly through Koutarou’s phone. 

Readjusting the phone between his ear and shoulder as he shifted the frying pan on the stove, Koutarou let out a noncommittal grunt, and muttered, “I don’t have the energy to be mean and bitter. And besides, it was kinda mutual, by the time we actually broke up.” The grease on the pan sizzled and hissed as he moved the handle.

Kuroo gave him an exasperated sigh, and grumbled through the line, “Even after that you’re giving him the benefit of the doubt? Fuck him, man.” The pan sizzled once again. “Wait, no, I meant like, ‘fuck that guy’, don’t fuck him.” Koutarou chuckled with his mouth, but didn’t quite feel it in his gut. His expression dropped down again quickly. Kuroo continued, “Seriously though. It’s been, what, three years? The breakup was ‘mutual’. And he’s treating you like _that_?”

The line went quiet for a moment, and then Kuroo mused, “Hmmmm. Unless there’s something you didn’t tell me. Did something else happen? You can tell me, I won’t judge you dude.” Koutarou lifted the pan and flipped the bacon, as Kuroo continued. “Did you cheat on him?”

At the accusation Koutarou’s wrist spasmed, and he slammed the pan back down onto the stove. It really isn’t true, so he wasn’t sure why the assumption angered him so much. “No I didn’t cheat on him! Why does everyone fucking assume that?!” He took a deep breath before he could get too emotional, his voice becoming much calmer. “Dude, no, I would’ve never done that to him. And no, I didn’t get cheated on either. We kinda just... fell apart I guess. I don’t know.” As the bacon crackled loudly, Koutarou silently thanked the gods that Keiji was likely still at work. He would’ve definitely heard his shouting through the wall.

Kuroo made a conciliatory noise of agreement. “I mean yeah, that can happen sometimes. Especially when two people live together. Why do you think Kenma and I don’t live together?” 

“Probably because you live in America.” 

At Kuroo’s laugh, Koutarou felt a pang of longing, and he realized just how much he missed his friend.

Kuroo had studied abroad once as a first-year university student, and had gotten more obsessed with returning as the years went by. After graduation, he had been offered a job at a research lab in California, and took the job immediately. Initially, Koutarou had felt a dangerous mix of jealousy, betrayal, and forlornness, but now all he felt was pride for his friend, and the ache of nostalgia for younger years. 

Kuroo and him had remained close through college and now even after. Kuroo had been the one to help get him back on his feet after the disaster that was his early twenties. They constantly talked, sometimes more than Koutarou spoke with his current friends and co-workers, but the physical gap between them pained him even still. 

Kuroo’s voice shook him out of his reverie, making Koutarou realize he had gone momentarily quiet, “You good, man?”

Koutarou dumped the slightly burnt bacon onto the waiting plate next to the stove, sighing. “Yeah, I’m good, just thinking.”

“Uh oh,” Kuroo joked, laughing again. His voice became serious. “But seriously man, are you alright? The whole thing with Akaashi... I mean, it really sucks. I’m sorry bro.”

“Eh, I’ve been through worse.” Koutarou shrugged, and he felt Kuroo’s disappointment at his dismissive attitude through the phone. Koutarou sighed, and conceded, “I mean you’re right, this does suck. But I’ll be okay. Thanks for giving a shit, I guess. Means a lot.” He hoped his earnestness was apparent.

He could feel Kuroo’s smile through the line and the kindness hurt. “Anytime, man.”

The bacon tasted like shit, but he ate all of it anyway.

* * *

Keiji wanted to punch himself. He wasn’t sure where exactly his vindictive attitude had come from, or where it had now gone, but he cursed himself for it. His fingers itched for a cigarette as he sat on a bench outside of his usual lunch spot, but he was too exhausted to go look for a smoking area. 

It had been a week since his last exchange with Bokuto, and also a week since he had last seen him. It seemed it had taken a unique sort of rudeness for Bokuto to finally, truly, “get out of his life”, and although Keiji thought he would be happy, he was instead racked with guilt and regret (along with other emotions he wasn’t confident enough to let himself feel). 

Initially, for a few hours, Keiji had felt sickly satisfied with himself. He had shut down Bokuto’s attempt to reconnect, and gotten in a jab to warn him against attempting it again. The bad memories from their relationship had swirled in his head then, reassuring him that his actions were justified. The pressure, the anxiety, the self-sacrifice; Keiji didn’t want to have to relive any of it, so whatever measures he took to ensure he wouldn’t were acceptable. But the look on Bokuto’s face, his entire change in demeanor at a single sentence, was seared into Keiji’s mind’s eye, planting a single seed of doubt within him.

Over the next few days, the doubt had sprouted and consumed him, allowing guilt to set in. It wasn’t as if he’d simply insulted Bokuto. Instead, he had bit into one of Bokuto’s deepest insecurities using their shared memories, and left the wound to fester. _You’re a dick, you know that?_ he thought to himself one morning, hoping that perhaps self-deprecation could be a good medicine for the guilt he felt. Frankly, it only made it worse. 

“Akaashi-kun. Akaashi-kuuuuuuun. Akaashi-kun~!”

A sing-song voice followed by two hands clamping down aggressively onto his shoulders snapped Keiji back to reality. As his companion slid onto the bench next to him, he gave a belated greeting, “Tendou.” 

Tendou had actually been one of Keiji’s co-workers in Tokyo, originally his cube-mate. At first, Keiji had disliked him; his appearance was reminiscent of Bokuto’s worst features, and the way he seemed to study Keiji like a specimen made him uncomfortable. Tendou pursued a friendship with Keiji almost aggressively, and begrudgingly, he went along with it. Eventually, Keiji came to value their relationship; there was an intelligence behind Tendou’s leering gaze and goofiness that he found oddly endearing.

(They also slept together a few times, but that didn’t factor into Keiji’s opinion of him. Not too much, anyway.) 

When Tendou had transferred to a firm in Kyoto, Keiji had admittedly missed him, but like the majority of his past relationships, he eventually forced himself to forget. He only remembered when Tendou Satori, in all his glory, had greeted him with an obnoxious grin and a swat on the ass his first day at the Kyoto firm. And just like that, he ingratiated himself into Keiji’s life once more. Kyoto had been an intended fresh start, but that wasn’t shaping up to be the case. 

Leaning back, Tendou lit up a cigarette, body relaxing as he took a drag. Popping it out of his mouth, he offered it to Keiji.

“No thanks. You shouldn’t be smoking here, anyway.”

“Whatever~,” Tendou sighed after another drag, purposely blowing the smoke into Keiji’s face. “Your chiding isn’t gonna stop me, and you’re fidgeting. Come on.” He offered the cigarette again, and Keiji took it, leaning forward with his arms resting on his knees. He took a long drag, and ashed on the ground before handing it back to Tendou. 

Holding the cigarette with his lip, Tendou spoke, “You’ve seemed super high-strung all week, tell senpai what’s on your mind.”

Keiji’s eyebrow twitched, and he gave Tendou a look. “You are not my senpai. We got hired at the same time, and you’re barely older than me.”

“At this firm I am, by technicality~.” Tendou’s voice became a little more serious, but not by much. “Seriously, what’s up?” Probably knowing it would irk Keiji the most, he added on, “It might affect your work if you don’t get it off your chest, Akaashi-kun.”

No longer denying himself the opportunity to vent, Keiji blurted out after a moment, “I talked to my ex again last week.”

Tendou looked a bit intrigued, and raised an eyebrow. When Keiji didn’t elaborate, he began, “Talked to as in... ?”

Keiji sighed. “Talked to as in I accidentally moved next door to him and now I can’t even escape his presence in the comfort of my own home.” He didn’t go into the issue he was actually referring to initially; though he wanted some sort of absolution from his guilt, he couldn’t explain himself.

Tendou laughed drily, and put out his cigarette on the bench, leaving a black mark. He flicked the butt onto the sidewalk, and leaned back again. “Yikes, man. Sounds like the plot of a shitty BL manga. But less funny, and more awkward.”

“Basically,” Keiji grumbled, crumpling Tendou’s cigarette butt under his shoe. He opened up the issue a little more, “I was kinda a dick to him, and it’s just made it worse.”

Tendou makes an affirmative noise, drawing it out as if he was musing about something. He offered a solution, “Maybe you should try to make it so awkward that the whole situation basically resets itself, and you can go back to being strangers. Sleeping with him might do it.” At Keiji’s immediate death glare he attempted to backpedal, but only made it worse, “Or you could apologize, but you seem like you’re too prideful for that—ouch!”

Keiji had nailed him in the ribs, and stood up, gathering his bag. “You suck at giving advice, _senpai_,” he hissed, hands on his hips. As he turned to leave, Tendou got up and fell into step beside him.

“Okay, yeah, advice isn’t really my thing. But I’m a _really_ good shoulder to cry on. Come on, Akaashi-kun~,” Tendou slung an arm around his shoulder obnoxiously. “Let’s go out drinking later, and you can tell me all about this neighbor-ex of yours.” 

Keiji wanted to decline, but maybe all he really needed was a drink.

* * *

Near midnight, Keiji returned home half-drunk. After struggling to get the key in the lock, he shuffled into the apartment sluggishly, kicking his shoes off in the genkan. He hadn’t gotten to vent to Tendou like he’d wanted, too distracted by his drink and the other’s tendency to get off task. In the darkness of his apartment, he let himself be pathetic, and slumped onto the couch, landing face first on the cushion. But the stillness that followed wasn’t the silence he’d been expecting; he could hear noise next door. Thankfully, it wasn’t people, but also not Bokuto’s television (which often played long into the night). Instead, it seemed to be music. 

Though the lyrics were muffled by the wall, Keiji got an odd vibe from the song Bokuto was playing. It wasn’t the math rock he had often listened to in high school, nor was it the cutesy, catchy pop he had been addicted to in college. Despite never hearing it before, it made Keiji’s intoxicated mind feel oddly nostalgic and full of longing.

Tiredly, he rolled onto his side, and gazed at the coffee table next to the couch where Bokuto’s housewarming gift lay, untouched since he’d received it. The owls on the pattern peered up curiously at him, nonjudgmental. He missed Bokuto.

_Damnit._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments esp are much appreciated, thanks for reading <3
> 
> (if you got the jojo reference, marry me)


	2. runner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaand it's here! it took two weeks and i failed nanowrimo but i still managed to write a lot, so that's good. 
> 
> thank you for all the kudos and comments from last chapter, enjoy <3

For Koutarou, it had been a long, long day. 

Since changing his work schedules to better avoid Akaashi’s presence, his days had become quite jumbled and cramped. He currently held three jobs, two of which were part-time. The first, selling fish at an open air market near the harbor, was actually somewhat enjoyable, and he only had to work in the mornings, and for just a few hours at that. The second, moving around boxes and furniture at a moving company, also wasn’t terrible; though he _was_ getting older, the heavy lifting and constant movement felt like good exercise, and allowed him to essentially turn his brain off while still earning money.

However, the third—waiting tables at a faux-fancy Italian restaurant downtown—absolutely sucked ass.

He’d initially only been a busboy, which had been acceptable at the time. During that early period in Kyoto, Bokuto bounced around between jobs—full-time, part-time, even some work under the table—without regard for any sort of stability. Staying in Kyoto hadn’t been the original plan, so at the time, he had just been getting enough to stay in his dinky little apartment, as well as keep the lights on and water running. After accidentally spending an entire year in the city (and accidentally falling in love with it) he’d resolved to stay, and immediately accepted the promotion to waiter when it was offered to him. Even now it was still his highest paying job, though it was also the most taxing. Especially since he’d changed his schedule.

Now, rather than work each of his jobs on their own, respective days, they often were stacked on top of one another, his hours sometimes coming dangerously close to overlapping. Today had been extremely rough: an early morning at the market, followed by an entire afternoon of setting up desks at an office space, now topped off by a late evening shift at the restaurant. 

Standing in the changing room, Koutarou stared into the small mirror within his locker. He slapped at his tired face as if to snap himself awake, but it didn’t work. His eyes were puffy and baggy both from the long hours and a month of sleep deprivation, which frankly ruined his whole look.

_My eyes are half of the appeal_, he thought sadly to himself as he slicked his hair back, further than he had in high school, so the tips pointed behind him rather than upwards. His hair was slightly grayer now than when he was a teenager (now actually gray, rather than bleached), though his dark roots still clung on desperately. _Eh, still in my twenties, after all..._, he thought absentmindedly, flinching at the pang of disappointment he felt after remembering his age. 

_I really gotta get it together soon. I can’t do this for the rest of my life._

Well, he could actually. But he really, _really_ did not want to.

* * *

Once he actually got out onto the floor, Koutarou felt a little more alive. Forced to keep a constant smile and speak in overly-formal tones to the customers, he found himself filled with the same type of false energy he’d used to get through a number of other painful experiences in his life. 

Handing another order over to the kitchen, Koutarou spun around to return to the dining room, only to be blocked by the small figure of one of his co-workers, Yachi.

“Yachi-san!” Koutarou greeted excitedly. Despite only having been there for a few months, Yachi was by far his favorite person to work with. She had the energy of a hundred suns, always had his back when dealing with testy customers, and shared his own slightly scatter-brained manner. Yachi was great.

(For a very short period, he’d toyed with asking her out. However, upon discovering that he would have to compete with not just one but _two_ boyfriends, he decided to let his interest die.)

Yachi, however, did not seem too great at the moment. Her face was red, her were eyes misty, and her hair was completely frazzled, likely from worried ruffling and flipping. She looked at him pleadingly, clasping his large hands in her petite ones, “Bokuto-san, please, _please_ take over this one table from me!” 

Worried, Koutarou’s eyes widened, “Whoa, are you good? I’ll take it, but what happened?”

Yachi flushed even more, and Koutarou briefly wondered if he was going to have to knock someone’s teeth in. Thankfully, it was nothing too bad.

“I’m just, getting super anxious for no reason and I can’t handle it... They’re all rowdy older guys, and they all ordered really intricate weird stuff, and we’re packed tonight so I know their orders are probably gonna get messed up or—“

Koutarou interrupted Yachi’s nervous rambling by clasping her shoulders, hoping she understood the warmth in the gesture. Giving her a reassuring smile, he pat her shoulders gently. “I got this, Yachi-san! I totally get it. Don’t sweat it!”

Yachi gave him a weak smile before thanking him profusely, and both of them returned to their work. Koutarou felt an odd sense of camaraderie as he walked further into the dining room, chancing a glance at the table he had taken over for the small girl. All color drained from his face at the sight.

_FUCK._

* * *

Keiji did not want to be here.

Since transferring, Keiji had learned that his department held something of a social outing every few weeks. Though supposedly for “team-building” and other such corporate nonsense, Tendou informed him that these outings typically devolved into just a bunch of drunk office workers complaining or arguing about women, politics, or beer. Tonight seemed to be no exception, and Keiji was not having it.

Tendou swayed distractingly in the seat next to Keiji, swirling his glass of beer like it was fine wine. Both he and Keiji weren’t participating in the table conversation, which had unfortunately turned into an argument over the ideal breast size for a woman. Busy preparing his mechanical response (just in case he was asked) Keiji didn’t notice Tendou attempting to get his attention until the other’s nose brushed teasingly against his earlobe. 

“Akaaaaaashi-kun~.”

The incorrect stressing of the syllables in his name was familiar, and remembering who the typical culprit of such a crime had once been, Keiji found himself more irked at Tendou than usual. He pulled away from Tendou’s face roughly, and glared at him. “What do you want?”

Tendou pouted playfully, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s not very nice. You shouldn’t speak to your senpai like that.”

Akaashi’s expression didn’t change as he said, “Yeah, that doesn’t even warrant a proper response.”

Tendou chuckled, placing his glass back down on the table. He leaned his chin on his arm, elbow resting on the table’s edge. Glancing from the ongoing table discussion and back to Keiji, Tendou smirked and asked, “So, Akaashi-kun, what _is_ the ideal breast size, according to you?” Thankfully, he said it softly enough to where he wasn’t dragged into the table’s conversation. So Keiji answered honestly.

“I’m not a fan of breasts at all, Tendou-san.”

This, Tendou obviously already knew. Nodding, he tilted his head playfully, “So you like your girls nice and flat? Like our cute little waitress~.”

Keiji’s lip curled a bit at the way he had objectified the terrified small blonde who had waited on them, but didn’t comment on it. More than likely, Tendou was trying to get even more of a rise out of him. Keiji responded, deadpan, “If I prefer anything on a partner, it would be pecs.”

Tendou’s eyes widened comically, and he laughed as he said lowly, “Aww, so that’s why I couldn’t get a second date! I’m not beefy enough for Akaashi-kun.” 

(Keiji didn’t concede, but it was true.)

He would later wish he had said something to steer the conversation elsewhere. After his comment, Tendou’s eyes swept around the dining area observantly, studying his surroundings intently. Pointing suddenly over to a waiter in the corner, he turned to ask Keiji, “So, someone like that big waiter over there?”

Spotting the man Tendou was referring to, Keiji’s blood ran cold. Tendou must have not picked up on his reaction, because he continued, murmuring into his ear, “Wow, you can literally see his muscles through his uniform. Even his ass, wow...”

From across the room, Keiji saw in Bokuto exactly what Tendou was referring to. Indeed, the white dress shirt was tight enough to show off the muscles in his back and arms, and his pants hugged his ass and thighs perfectly. Keiji turned red as he realized just what he was doing, ogling his own ex; but whether this flush was out of frustration, annoyance, or embarrassment, he himself could not tell. 

Unfortunately, Tendou continued, “I actually know that guy, he cuts with both sides of the sword if you catch my drift... Good lay, to be honest, but he’s kinda needy for a—“

Keiji slammed his fist onto the arm of Tendou’s chair, interrupting him. Looking at the other pleadingly, he begged, “Tendou-san, please for once in your life, _please_ just shut up. I don’t want to hear about your sexcapades, not at dinner.”

The other man looked genuinely confused at Keiji’s strong reaction, wiggling his eyebrows a bit. Keiji could literally hear the cogs in Tendou’s head turning as he put what little pieces he had together.

“Oh no, don’t tell me...”

Keiji nodded solemnly, and took a long sip of water, staring somewhere far off beyond the restaurant. He begged the gods to smite him, right then and there.

Tendou looked guilty for the smallest moment, before stifling a giggle. Soon, he was just sitting there, laughing into his hand at Keiji’s misfortune. At Keiji’s stone-faced expression, he settled down.

“So that’s your neighbor from hell, huh? Small world...”

Keiji sighed. There was really no point in being mad at Tendou; theoretically, he shouldn’t give a shit what Bokuto was up to relationship-wise. But still, he was curious, and inevitably caved into asking, “How exactly do you know him?”

Tendou scratched his chin, shrugging, “I exaggerated a bit, I don’t _know_ know him. He showed up at my favorite club a couple times, so I took my chance. I don’t even remember his name all too well, oops...” Keiji couldn’t tell if Tendou was telling the truth or not. Although his words seemed earnest, his tone and gaze were evasive. Keiji couldn’t bring himself to keep going from there, so he instead tuned back into the table discussion.

Realizing they were still talking about breasts, he tuned out again, focusing his gaze on the table instead. _Why couldn’t I be literally anywhere else right now?_

* * *

The same thought was plastered plainly across Bokuto’s face when he arrived at their table. Though his mechanical motions and strained tone as he addressed the table told Keiji he had noticed his and Tendou’s presence, Bokuto did not let his eyes fall upon the pair once. Despite the fact that it was Keiji’s rejection that had caused this icy treatment, he still felt a dull ache in his chest, right behind his heart. 

To distract himself from the awkwardness of the situation, Keiji took a long sip of water, which persisted until Bokuto finally walked away from the table. Tendou had mirrored his gesture with his own drink. They both placed their glasses back down with a solid _thunk_. Tendou was the first to speak.

“Oof. This sucks.”

Keiji sulked. “Indeed.”

The night went on, with the same awkward tone. Each time Bokuto passed or visited their table, he would look right through Keiji, large pupils refusing to focus on his frame. Keiji wondered if Bokuto felt his eyes on him, and if he could pick up on the emotions in them just from that intuition alone. When they’d still been together, Bokuto could easily gauge Keiji’s moods, just as Keiji could easily gauge Bokuto’s. When they’d still been together...

Keiji kicked himself for allowing such emotions and memories to overtake him, especially while he was out in public. His leg bounced anxiously, and his fingers twitched; he clenched his teeth to prevent himself from biting his lip. _I need a smoke_, he thought reflexively. He fought the urge for another thirty minutes, before finally giving in. Turning to Tendou, he murmured, “Do you have a lighter? I’ve gotta step out for a smoke, now.” 

Tendou gave him one of his wide-eyed yet inexpressive looks; this one was likely meant to be sympathetic. Grinning, he replied, “Eh sure, but I’m coming with you.” Excusing both he and Keiji from the table, he ushered the other outside. Slipping into a wide alley between the restaurant and another building, he lit up his own cigarette, and then Keiji’s. They both let out respective, satisfied sighs as the tension was just slightly relieved. Keiji relaxed in the balmy night air of late spring, leaning against the side of the building. Drily, he said, “I think the gods might have it out for me.”

Tendou nodded sagely, “Yeah, probably. Or maybe it’s just one god, who just really hates your guts for some reason.” Keiji made a noncommittal grunt, taking another drag. Tendou continued talking, unfortunately, “But yaknow, if it makes you feel any better, he’s probably in the same exact boat you’re in right now.”

It didn’t. It actually made Keiji feel a little worse, if he was honest. Because if that was the case, it was his fault. 

“You’re just lucky he’s not one of those super vindictive exes, you know, the ones that just _relish_ in causing drama, and making the other uncomfortable or upset...”

Keiji flinched. Only a few weeks ago, that had been him. After a beat of silence, Tendou sighed, “I’m not helping, am I?”

“Not at all.”

“Ah, sorry, Akaashi-kun.” Tendou shoulders drooped, and he leaned against the space of wall next to Keiji. They both took another drag at the same time. Keiji’s head started to hurt.

Suddenly, a sharp bang sounded from further down the alley as one of the restaurant’s metal side-doors opened, accompanied by what sounded like a man yelling into his phone. Keiji recognized Bokuto’s voice immediately. Tendou shot Keiji a dumb-founded look, as if to say _Seriously?!_. 

Still in his uniform but apparently off the clock, Bokuto trudged down the alleyway, arguing with someone on the other line. He didn’t seem to notice the pair yet, too focused on his complaining. “Look, unless you’re gonna put me up somewhere for the night, I can’t do it. I’ve got a train to catch, man.” 

Keiji had gone completely still, and watched as his cigarette burned away slowly. Bokuto’s footfalls were heavy, and halfway between the metal door and the exit of the alleyway, he seemed to notice the pair. As he continued to talk into his phone, his face was unreadable, and his wide eyes glittered as light from the lamppost above the alley caught in his iris’s webbing.

When Bokuto passed, Keiji glanced up at him, and their eyes locked briefly. Bokuto’s expression was blank, but in his gaze, Keiji saw too many things. The single light illuminating the alleyway refracted in Bokuto’s eyes, flecks of brilliant amber and gold shimmering as he moved past. Shadows danced and stretched along his pupils as the light briefly revealed their depth, for a moment transporting Keiji to earlier times. Keiji had always loved Bokuto’s eyes. “They’re one of your defining features,” he remembered telling him, way back in high school. 

Just as quickly as they’d met, their eyes cut away from each other, and Bokuto exited the alleyway. Keiji took another drag of his cigarette, and it burned down to the filter. He flicked the butt onto the ground, quickly crushing it under his foot, mentally doing so with the rush of emotions that had just overcome him as well. He ran a hand through his hair, displacing the short, dark curls. Tendou was silent for a few moments, and then spoke softly.

“Wanna go back inside?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

* * *

Koutarou’s hand trembled as he unlocked his apartment door at 2 in the morning. His exhaustion and anger in that moment were beyond comprehension.

His second job at the moving company had called him at the end of his evening shift at the restaurant, asking him to return to the office space from earlier to move three more desks up to the right floor. He’d attempted to refuse, but after being threatened with termination, he realized it was more of a demand than a request. He had tried to let the job consume and distract him, and had hoped they would pay for a hotel room he could crash in afterwards, but no. The entire time working, he thought of Akaashi, and instead of a hotel, they’d gotten him a cab home. For that entire hour long ride, he’d thought of Akaashi as well.

He’d done so well at avoiding him, and had figured that at his job he would be especially safe. Kyoto was a huge city; it was once the capital of Japan! How did he manage to run into him there of all places, both during and after work? _Someone has it out for me_, he thought, trying to remember the last few shrines he’d been to, to see if perhaps he had committed some sort of taboo or indiscretion that may have gotten him cursed. 

Toeing off his shoes and dropping his bag in the genkan roughly, Koutarou trudged further into his small apartment. He contemplated passing out on the couch, but the fridge was calling his name. _I definitely need a drink first._ He thought of Akaashi again.

Tonight had made Koutarou realize, among other things, that he definitely still found Akaashi attractive. Though he’d tried his best to avoid looking at him altogether, he had still noticed his defining features. Back in high school, Kuroo had once called Akaashi plain. On some level, Koutarou agreed with him; though beautiful to him, it wasn’t as though Akaashi was some supermodel or idol. But love had forever tainted his perception of the other, and even when filled with all the complicated emotions as he currently was, he still noticed Akaashi’s beauty. His porcelain skin, his lithe frame, his long, elegant fingers... Koutarou shook his head before he could get too carried away. 

Forcing down his feelings of attraction, Koutarou was confronted with another realization: on some level, despite so recently being hurt by Akaashi again, he still cared about him. Koutarou found himself thinking about the other’s job (he’d definitely been out with co-workers, not friends), the other’s relationships (why was that red-head he’d been with seemed so familiar?), the other’s health... 

Akaashi’s health actually concerned him the most, now that he thought about it. When he and Akaashi had dated, neither of them had been in a good place mentally. Koutarou had his own struggles, but Akaashi had made it clear to him in the final months of their relationship that his own suffering was just as great, if not greater. Depression, anxiety, and as Akaashi had put it, “the pressure of being alive” had formerly weighed the other down so heavily. Was he still carrying that weight? Was he medicated? 

_Is that why he’s smoking now?_ Koutarou briefly thought, but realizing the smoking is what worried him most, he flushed ashamedly and pushed the idea away. Akaashi was an adult, and he could do what he wanted. _Even if he could die from it._ To say the least, smoking was a touchy subject for Koutarou. 

Opening the refrigerator, Koutarou grabbed a bottle of beer from the barren top shelf. He cracked open the cap with calloused hands, and took a long swig, a few droplets escaping his lips and running down his chin. He sloppily cleaned his face with his palm and sighed. He didn’t want to think tonight. But he also didn’t think he was going to get much sleep. 

Beer in hand, Koutarou walked the length of his small apartment to the back porch, opening the smudged sliding glass door slowly. Plopping himself down in the cheap, plastic lawn chair he kept on the porch for moments just like these, he took another swig of beer and leaned back. He stared listlessly at the view of the city; in this area, not much of a sight to behold. His thoughts drifted back to Akaashi, and as if on cue, he heard the _clink_ of a lighter, followed by a deep exhalation coming from the porch to his right. 

Koutarou stood up, and leaned over the railing a bit, to see if he could catch a glimpse of Akaashi. Breathing in the smoke from the other’s cigarette, he brought himself to speak.

* * *

“So you really do smoke now? Why, when you know it’s so bad for you?”

There was a pause in his neighbor’s breathing, and suddenly Akaashi leaned over the handrail, turning to look at Koutarou around the wall between them. He must have thought that the darkness of the night concealed him more than it actually did, because his expression was slightly incredulous—very out-of-character for the usually reserved and emotionless Akaashi Keiji.

As Akaashi puffed on his cigarette, the embers at its tip slightly illuminated his face in a warm glow. Realizing he could be seen, Akaashi’s expression quickly returned to its typical neutrality. The smoke he exhaled once again passed in front of Koutarou’s balcony, this time blowing in his face. The move seemed to be Akaashi’s response to his question. 

Koutarou made a face, and Akaashi turned away. He thought the other was returning back inside, back to the reciprocal, willful ignorance of his presence. But instead of the rattle of a sliding glass door, Koutarou heard the crunching of a defused cigarette. Akaashi returned, leaning on the railing. He did not look at Koutarou as he spoke, “I know they’re bad for me. But I’m addicted to them now.”

Koutarou remembered hearing the same sentiment from his parents, and shuddered, repressing those memories. He pouted, and took a swig of beer, saying petulantly, “You should quit then.”

Akaashi nodded in agreement, but said no more. The two sat in silence, and Koutarou was surprised to find no terrible emotions bubbling up inside him during their shared moment. Vague feelings of fondness and nostalgia floated like Akaashi’s cigarette smoke in the air around him, slightly blurred by the beer settling in his stomach. As he got down to the bottom of the bottle, he held it out over the banister, offering it to the other. Wordlessly, Akaashi took the beer and finished it off. His lips carelessly enveloped the bottle’s rim, as if the gesture was meaningless. _Indirect kiss._

Akaashi’s voice broke him out of his childish musings. “I still prefer Kirin, I think.” Koutarou blinked, slightly shocked by the other’s small talk. Akaashi had never been a fan of empty conversation, especially with Koutarou; this was new, and very, very strange. 

Testing the waters, Koutarou responded, hoping his tone came off light-hearted rather than bullying, “You think? Do you even drink enough to be able to taste a difference?”. Akaashi had never liked to drink, at least not the way Koutarou had in college.

The other shrugged, handing the empty bottle back to Koutarou. He maneuvered his fingers carefully as Koutarou grabbed it, ensuring their fingers didn’t touch. Koutarou felt the weight of the wall between them, even as Akaashi answered his question.

They continued their shallow discussion for a few more minutes. Though each subtly acknowledged their past together, Koutarou felt as though he were talking to an acquaintance from work than an ex. He wasn’t sure if he should feel disheartened or relieved by that, either.

Eventually, Akaashi yawned, and his face was briefly illuminated by the blue glow of his phone screen as he checked the time. His face looked less severe than Koutarou remembered. 

“Well, it’s rather late. I think I’m going to head in for the night.”

Koutarou kept himself from attempting to extend their conversation. This unnatural exchange was likely the result of the awkward night the two had shared earlier, and wouldn’t repeat itself. It was best to let it go now, and not become reattached. Or rather, not _more_ reattached than Koutarou had already become. 

Koutarou ran a hand through his hair, the other still holding the beer bottle by its neck. The mild buzz made his lips loose enough to return to the playful inflection he had used to address Akaashi with, years ago. “Alright, well, goodnight, Aghaashi.”

The other made a small sound of acknowledgement as he turned back towards his apartment. The sliding door rattled open, and then slid shut. Koutarou sighed, somewhat wistfully, his frame relaxing against the railing. His fingers rubbed carefully over the rim of the bottle absently, as if to still feel Akaashi’s lips there. 

_You’re not over him at all, man._

* * *

For the umpteenth time that night, Keiji rolled over restlessly in bed, huffing as he readjusted himself. He couldn’t get Bokuto off of his mind.

He should not have attempted to have any sort of conversation with the other. He should have been rude, and ignored him, and kept him at as great a distance as the wall between them (and their shared past) would allow. 

But no. He’d willingly spoken to that tired and buzzed Bokuto, not to be rude, and not to apologize, but to engage in meaningless small talk that did nothing but spark a desire to know more about him. Keiji sighed, exasperated, and rolled over again. He fluffed his pillow aggressively, as if that would allow him to relax. 

_Your utter lack of conviction is terrifying_, Keiji thought to himself, eyebrows tightly knit together and expression stern even with his eyes tightly shut. He huffed again, and pulled the comforter over his face, frustrated. 

_You cannot let this happen again. You will not let this happen again._

Keiji did not get a lot of sleep that night; not as though he had gotten much sleep lately, anyways. 

* * *

A week later, after a long day at his second job, Koutarou was grocery shopping. Basket in hand, his gaze lazily perused their selection of beer. His hand moved mechanically to pick up a six-pack of his usual brand, but before grabbing the handle, he paused.

Owlish gaze flicking over to the Kirin beer, his hand moved to the right, not unlike a claw machine. Picking this pack instead, he moved on with his shopping, silently admitting to himself the reason behind this change of selection.

_Wishful thinking_, he thought derisively to himself in the checkout line. But he clung onto hope all the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no idea how long this fic is gonna be. maybe i'll hit my initial target of 50k, but who knows! updates will probably be once every two weeks, but that just depends on how much i can get written ahead of time. thanks for sticking around! kudos and comments are so appreciated!


	3. fragments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise update yay! sorry this took so long, to make up for it this chapter is 1k longer than either of the other two were. thank you so much for all the kudos, comments, and hits, I hope you're enjoying the fic so far. it's a lot of fun to write! <3
> 
> gonna start adding some content warnings at the beginning just to make things easier, spoilers tho lol
> 
> cw: tsukiyamayachi, fwb akaten, a couple original characters, drinking, buzzed sex (no smut), sex mention, smoking mention

June came along, and then July. Things between Bokuto and Keiji hadn’t necessarily become less awkward, but the tension between them had subsided considerably. They spoke when they saw each other, and shared beers together on occasion—their conversations never really contained much substance, but it was just enough for Keiji.  


While the information Keiji had gathered about Bokuto was shallow, it did give him a vague sense of comfort. It had quelled that itching, anxious curiosity Keiji had manifested since encountering Bokuto those short few months ago, and eased the far deeper anxiety he’d held about the other since their split years ago. The stress of not knowing where he was, what he was doing or _how_ he was doing had finally been relieved—but now, Keiji did not know how to feel or what to do.  


_There isn’t much_ to _do_, Keiji told himself in vain. As far as he should be concerned, their relationship had been irrevocably fractured, and any attempt to reset its frame would likely only split them further apart. But Keiji hadn’t truly listened to his own deductions or plans in a long time; he’d never been able to break the habit of following his heart instead of his brain. And so, rather than intelligently distance himself from the situation, he sunk into it deeply and willingly.

* * *

Sinking into the situation eventually felt more like spiraling. And when Keiji spiraled, he had no control. And when Keiji had no control, he had the tendency to _fucking panic_.  


Nothing in his situation was ideal. Though he’d come to terms with the fact he was living next to an ex he definitely still held some lingering affection for, all the other details of his life made him recoil in something resembling distress. He had no social life, and hadn’t gotten laid in at least half a year (the fact this bothered him also stressed him out; he’d never had a particularly high sex drive, so the fact that he was practically craving intimacy disgusted him). No longer having any access to his parents’ funds, he was just barely comfortable financially. He wouldn’t be able to go back to school for at least another three years.  


_It sucks. It all just fucking sucks._ Keiji groaned to himself, multiple times a day—at the office, at the convenience store, in his bed. He’d been vaguely aware of this existential unhappiness before he’d moved, probably for years. But now that he had recently been forced into introspection, it was all brought to the forefront of his mind.  


So currently, he was trying to relieve his stress—he had to do something to feel a little more in control. But he wasn’t doing a very good job. Keiji cringed when the bedframe slammed into the wall again—Bokuto had definitely heard it that time, if the muffled complaint he heard from his apartment was any indication.  


Unfortunately, none of this bed slamming was the type Keiji really wanted currently (and was likely also not what Bokuto thought it was, either). Rather than getting laid, he was reorganizing all of his furniture. An old stress relieving tactic he’d originally utilized in high school, Keiji had thought it might work to calm him down now. None of his other techniques had worked: jerking off made him feel like a pathetic teenager, drinking made him feel like a pathetic adult, and smoking only served to make him more anxious. And now all this new strategy was doing was frustrating him—he definitely did not have the upper body strength or vitality he had had as a teenager. Nudging the rest of the bed into place weakly, he sighed, and sank down face first onto the mattress.  


His wallowing was interrupted by a sharp rapping on his front door. The apartment was small enough that he could hear the knocking even in the back corner of his bedroom. He missed his Tokyo apartment; not the one he had moved from, but the one from before.  


He already knew it was Bokuto before he answered the door; his only other visitors, either Tendou or the landlady, always used the buzzer. When he opened the door, Bokuto was wearing the usual unintentionally goofy, slightly chagrined expression he usually greeted him with nowadays. Bokuto crossed his arms and puffed out his chest at Keiji’s own dead expression and lack of greeting.  


“Do you really have to make so much noise on my day off? If you’re gonna bang someone, do it when I’m not around. Common courtesy, you know?”  
Keiji sighed. He was too tired to even feel truly exasperated. “Bokuto, does it _look_ like I’m getting laid?”  


He prickled under Bokuto’s quick once-over of him, but then smirked when the other’s bravado practically evaporated. Bokuto weakly pointed a finger at him, mouth agape and shoulders drooped. “You’re kinda, uh, sweaty, I guess.”  


“It’s the middle of July in Kyoto.”  


“Oh... that’s true.”  


There was an ever familiar awkward silence between the two, and Keiji cringed. Leaning against the doorframe, he spoke.  


“I’m rearranging the furniture in my apartment. Sorry. At least you’re not in the unit below me.”  


Bokuto made another noise of understanding, and after a moment an expression Keiji hadn’t seen on the other’s face in years passed across his face. _Oh no, he’s getting an idea._ Bokuto’s eyes sparkled, and his posture straightened again. “You’re moving stuff in your apartment around? I can help with that, I literally do it for a living!”  


_Dear gods, Keiji, please say no_, the last piece of his sanity begged deep inside his head. He really should not, he really, _really_should not have, but Keiji had grown tired of disciplining himself. It hadn’t led anywhere so far. So he put on a bit of a show, as if he was really agonizing over the decision, eventually sighing and moving over to invite Bokuto inside. “Fine, but I’m not paying you. And you’ll have to deal with me bossing you around.”  


Bokuto just laughed, stepping inside all too casually, waving him off. “That’s fine, not like I’ve never had to deal with that before!” He paused as he stepped inside the genkan, and looked impishly over his shoulder at Keiji. “Oh, and I accept your apology.”  


He laughed again at Keiji’s exaggerated groan.

* * *

Having Bokuto in his apartment was not as uncomfortable a situation as Keiji had feared it would have been. Sure, he had to resist staring at the way the other’s muscles flexed when he lifted something, and had to school his face to be as neutral and listless as possible, but it wasn’t bad. Thankfully, no aches of nostalgia or sentimentality came to him either.  


However, Bokuto seemed to be having a much tougher time. While he talked enough for the both of them, he fidgeted tremendously. When his hands weren’t full, he wrung his hands and picked at his nails anxiously. His eyes darted around nervously as well, as if he was afraid to take too much in all at once. Eventually, Keiji had to intervene. Beginning to place books on the shelves they moved, he spoke to Bokuto without looking at him.  


“Are you alright?”  


Bokuto was now laying on the floor of Keiji’s living room—despite having declared they were “Done, yay!”, he still had not gone back to his own apartment. Despite how antsy being in Keiji’s apartment seemed to make him, he did not leave.  


“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine...” Even without a look from Keiji, Bokuto seemed to realize his lie had been seen through. He sighed. “It’s just weird being in _this_ apartment.”  


“You mean it’s weird being in _my_ apartment?” Keiji didn’t quite understand his phrasing. Turning to look at Bokuto, he cocked a brow in question.  


The other rolled from his back onto his stomach and huffed. Leaning his head on crossed arms, he shook his head. “No, it’s not weird ‘cause it’s yours. We talk now, so it’s not weird.” He seemed to be still trying to convince himself of this idea. He continued, “No, it’s weird because it _used_ to be _my_ apartment. When I first moved here.”  


Keiji turned back around to hide the face he reflexively made, but what exactly the expression was he wasn’t sure. He tried to sound unruffled, “Oh. Well then I can understand why it would feel strange.”  


Bokuto made a noise of agreement, and then went quiet. Keiji tried to continue the conversation, “Why did you move into the apartment next door?”  
Bokuto was quiet again for another moment, but Keiji did not turn around to look at him. He could hear the other picking at his nails, but had to resist the urge to tell him to stop. _He’s an adult._ Finally, Bokuto spoke.  


“Uh, not for any huge reason I guess. I didn’t want any neighbors, and my unit’s a corner apartment so it’s just a little bigger... Kinda one of those things where I just saw the chance and took it. Yeah.”  


Keiji couldn’t pinpoint the exact reason, but the answer felt like a lie. Bokuto had never been great at lying—he always looked ashamed and strained when he did, like a kid who got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. He stole a peek at the other, but found no such expression on his face. If anything, he looked a little listless, but that was all.  


Keiji decided to take a lighter tone with his next question. Bokuto was not a difficult person to cheer up, and hopefully Keiji still remembered how to do it properly. “I’m not gonna find any surprises, am I? No busted pipes or body parts hidden under the floorboards, right?”  


The other chuckled, and Keiji silently cheered at his own success. “No, no surprises, Keiji! I mean, I did break stuff in this apartment, but I fixed it before I moved out.”  


When Keiji turned around again to pick up more books for the shelf, Bokuto stuck out his tongue at him. Keiji smiled in response, and that was just their afternoon.

* * *

“Aww, really? That’s so cute, you guys should get back together.”  


“Have I ever told you how much your advice sucks?”  


Tendou made a vague gesture with his hands, “Something like that at some point, I think. But I’m right this time, so it’s actually good advice. Trust me.”  
Keiji scowled at him, shifting his shoulder to adjust his bag. “No. Never.” Tendou just laughed.  


Despite his better judgement, Keiji had chosen Tendou as the one and only person who he could talk about Bokuto with. Chosen, however, was a loose term—it was either talk to Tendou, or keep it all bottled up. Tendou was one of his only friends at the moment, and also one of the only people in his life now who knew (and accepted that) he was gay. It seemed Tendou also held Keiji in a similar regard, if their conversations were anything to go by.  


Currently, the pair were _technically_ heading home from the office. However, this week marked the beginning of the Gion festival, and Tendou had insisted they “check it out” before the streets became too crowded. And by “check out the Gion festival”, Tendou had apparently meant “gossip about Keiji’s love life and give unwanted advice about it while sharing a couple beers with him in the street”.  


Taking a heavy sip of his beer, Tendou looked at him wide-eyed, with that creepy expression he had the tendency to make. “Is there any real reason not to? It sounds like he’s also dying for your company, yaknow?”  


Keiji didn’t budge. “He’s the type of person who thrives off attention; that doesn’t mean there’s any particular interest in me. And our breakup was _bad_, there’s no coming back from that.”  


“How bad could it really have been if you’re on speaking terms now?”  


“You weren’t there.” Keiji’s fingers began to itch for a cigarette; he distracted himself by digging his nails into the beer can. He dented it slightly.  


Tendou made a sound of acknowledgement, but it was clear that he did not agree with Keiji’s vague reasoning. Eventually, he shrugged, “Eh, I’ve never even had a real breakup, so I guess I’ll just never get it.”  


Taking a conservative sip of his beer, Keiji gave Tendou a questioning look. “‘Real breakup’?”  


“Can’t have a real breakup without ever having a real relationship~,” the other said with a sing-song lilt. “I always cut contact before things get too serious, yaknow?”  


Too quickly, Keiji responded, “That’s sad.” He bit his lip after the callous words escaped him—as if to capture them before Tendou could hear—but it was too late. However, instead of seeming hurt, Tendou just nodded.  


“Yeah, it is. So that’s why I’m telling you, don’t be me.”  


“I don’t think our situations our comparable.”  


Tendou simply shrugged again. “Maybe not, Akaashi-kun.”

Though they’d planned on splitting off at the train station, Tendou ended up going home with him. Initially, they had intended to drink beer and watch a movie; but when Tendou leaned over to ask lowly in his ear if he could spend the night, Keiji was too lonely to say no.  


(Even if he wasn’t lonely, he probably would have said yes anyway.)  


As if the universe had meant to spite him, the door to Bokuto’s apartment was open when he and Tendou arrived. A small blonde woman in a yukata stood just outside the door, speaking excitedly to a much taller, bespectacled man. Keiji resisted the urge to stare after he gave the pair a small nod of acknowledgement—they seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place them anywhere in his memory. As he and Tendou took off their shoes in the genkan, Tendou “hmm”-ed.  


“What is it?” Keiji asked, placing his shoes in the rack neatly. Tendou left his haphazardly strewn by the door, but Keiji was too buzzed to care.  


“Did that tall kid seem familiar to you?”  


“I guess? I thought he may have been one of Bokuto and I’s friends from university.”  


Tendou rubbed his chin dramatically, then his temples as if he was truly racking his brain. “Really? Then how would I know him? Hmm...”  


Keiji shot him a similarly exaggerated look, brows furrowed together, “Are you gonna be musing about that all night now?”  


Tendou waved his hands playfully, “Aww, of course not Keiji-kun. I wouldn’t want to neglect you, after all.”  


“Please don’t call me that.” He sighed when Tendou leaned forward, pressing him gently against the wall.  


“You’re no fun.”  


Not long after that, they fucked.

* * *

Koutarou had hoped that when he had agreed to go to the Gion festival with Yachi and Tsukishima, he would not be getting third-wheeled. When the pair’s entire polycule was present, it was impossible to feel anything but unnecessary, with how enamored they all seemed to be with one another. But Yachi was polite, and Tsukishima was not very affectionate in public, so Koutarou had hoped things would be enjoyable. And decidedly _not awkward_.  


But like with most things lately, he had been dead wrong. He had forgotten the pair were at this point long distance, so their attention was really solely for each other the entire night. It was actually kinda cute and romantic, but Koutarou had been feeling jaded about relationships lately, so he sulked. Cradling a bottle of beer close to his chest as they wandered the crowded streets of downtown, he thought about slipping away to let the pair do their own thing. However, they had invited him out, and he wasn’t even sure what he would do on his own, so he begrudgingly stuck with them, only speaking when spoken to.  


_Whatever_, he thought sullenly, and took a big swig of beer.  


Eventually, Yachi, who had been bravely leading the trio through the crowds, led them to the edge of the street, disappearing into a nearby building. As Tsukishima turned around, Bokuto gave him a questioning look.  


“She had to take a piss.”  


“You’re so eloquent, Tsukki!”  


The other smiled at that—that was Tsukishima’s version of a laugh, Koutarou had learned.  


For a moment, they stood in relative silence, watching the festivities around them. After awhile though, Koutarou could feel Tsukishima’s gaze on him, so he turned to meet it. The blond held his gaze briefly before looking away, shifting around on his feet slightly. It was apparent that he wanted to say something, but was not sure how to start off. Koutarou decided to help out.  


“What’s wrong, Tsukishima?”  


“Who’s your neighbor?”  


Koutarou suddenly felt himself panic a little bit, and reflexively took a sip of beer. He pretended he didn’t hear the other’s question completely. “Huh? What’d you say?” He hoped Tsukishima would drop it.  


Of course, he didn’t drop it. In fact, he leaned in and asked a bit louder, “I said, who’s your neighbor? It’s Akaashi, isn’t it? I recognized him.”  
Koutarou pouted, crossing his arms. “Yeah, it’s Akaashi. Why are you asking?”  


Despite being the one to bring up the subject, Tsukishima’s eyes widened. As if to save face, he adjusted his glasses, looking away once more. “Don’t tell me you two are...” He pursed his lips, and looked back at Koutarou. His expression was difficult to read.  


Koutarou shook his head aggressively, “No, no, no, absolutely not! It was literally just a coincidence he moved in, we didn’t even talk to each other for the first month he was here...”  


Tsukishima looked thoroughly unconvinced. Koutarou lightly punched at the other’s shoulder, his face screwed up petulantly. “I swear, man! Why would I bother lying about that?”  


“Because you’re a weirdo.”  


“Says you!” Koutarou stuck out his tongue, and took another sip of beer. He tried to block all thoughts of Akaashi out of his mind; this was not the time or the place to think about it. He muttered into the bottle, “Did you just invite me out to bully me? You’re rude, Tsukki...”  


He hadn’t intended Tsukishima to hear him, but somehow he did. A bony elbow was jabbed into his side, and Tsukishima leveled a glare his way. “I invited you out because Hitoka said you missed me.” He said the next part a bit quieter, and Koutarou could have _sworn_ he saw his ears turn a little red. “And I missed you too, asshole.”  


Koutarou made the most obnoxiously happy face he could muster, and swung an arm around the other’s neck. “Aww, Tsukki, you really do care!”  


Though the show of affection was really just to mess with Tsukishima, the rush of emotions Koutarou felt at the other’s admission were very real. Even such a small amount of validation that, yes, the people he had been around in Tokyo did miss him, did love him, even just a little, made his heart soar. He stifled down the guilt he still felt about leaving with these new emotions, and took another swig of beer.  


“Get off me, Bokuto. Hitoka’s coming back.”  


“Never! You’re mine, now! She can fight me for you!”  


“Ugh. You know you’re gonna have to fight Yamaguchi, too, right?”  


Koutarou laughed, and for the first time in a long time, it felt real.

* * *

When Koutarou finally found his way back to the apartment, he was just a little drunk.  


He had thought he had been pacing himself, and to an extent he had been; he had paced himself better than he did when he drank alone, at least. But even so, he was drunk enough to where he tripped up the stairs more than once getting to his floor, and he had fallen over taking his pants off when he stripped to take a shower. Thankfully, he was now safe in his bed, and could drift off into a drunken stupor at any moment.  


But unfortunately, there were some interesting acoustics coming from the apartment next door which prevented any sort of sleep from overtaking him.  
The banging of a headboard against the wall was definitely not Akaashi moving any furniture around this time—the sound was far too rhythmic, and accented by muffled noises which had to be moans. Koutarou pressed his hands into his face, and sighed heavily.  


He couldn’t even bring himself to feel any sort of strong emotion about the turn of events—he’d accepted already that Akaashi was living his own life, that he was _allowed_ to live his own life and do as he pleased. He was just so tired of this. It felt as if he was just destined to be a voyeur to other people’s happiness. It felt like he would only get table scraps of affection, and that he would have to learn how to be content with that. He didn’t want to have to learn how to be content with being alone. Being lonely.  


_Get it together_, Koutarou told himself, digging the heels of his hands into his closed eyes. He didn’t cry much anymore, and didn’t think he was going to, but the habit of suppression always returned when he sunk too deeply into his emotions.  


At some point, the sounds coming from Akaashi’s apartment stopped, and at some point after that, Koutarou fell asleep.

* * *

Koutarou thankfully didn’t wake up with a hangover, but he still felt like shit. He sat in silence for a moment, resting his eyes, before the sound of someone knocking on his door forced him to get up.  


For a split second, he was confused—the only visitor he ever got was the landlady, and she usually just rang the buzzer. However, checking the time on his phone he quickly remembered, and uttered a loud “Fuck!” as he clambered into the genkan, hurriedly unlocking the door. As the door swung open, he was met with the slightly miffed expression of his older sister, and the much blanker and more innocent expression of her baby, who she had propped up in her arms haphazardly.  


“Language, Kou,” she chided, quickly stepping inside. “I already know the answer, but you forgot, didn’t you?”  


Koutarou wanted to kick himself, if only for a moment. He had agreed a few days prior to watch Hikari’s something-month-old for a weekend, as her (good-for-nothing, low-life loser of a) husband’s grandfather had passed away, and they needed to attend the funeral. Though her older children had been left with a friend of hers, Hikari didn’t trust anyone but family with babies, and as Koutarou was her only living relative in Kyoto, he was her first choice. Wanting to be both a good little brother and a good uncle, Koutarou had obliged. And yeah, maybe he’d forgotten what _day_ it was, but it’s not like he’d forgotten about the responsibility entirely!  


He straightened his back, taking a defensive posture, but shrunk under Hikari’s glare before he could get a word in edgewise. Running a hand through his hair, he sighed, “I mean, I didn’t forget I’d be babysitting... I just forgot it was today. Sorry, Hika-rin.”  


His sister softened at his use of the childish nickname, as she always did. Koutarou didn’t use it often, at least not as often as he had when they were kids, which likely added to its effectiveness. Koutarou was still in many ways the little brother type, and he’d be damned if he didn’t use it to his advantage.  


Sighing, his sister slipped off her shoes and headed further into the apartment, setting down the duffel bag she’d been holding in the arm not currently cradling her baby. Seeing Hikari jostle and carry around her kids while doing chores used to make Koutarou nervous—but the other two had turned out just fine and healthy, so he figured now that maybe this was just some weird talent mothers had. He didn’t really get it. As he was lost in thought, almost admiring Hikari, Koutarou realized she was speaking.  


“Koutarou, you really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I mean, we’re headed to Tokyo anyway, so I can just drop Kouji off at mom’s if I have to.”  
Picking up the duffel and placing it on the counter of the kitchenette, Koutarou shook his head, “Nee-chan, a promise is a promise. I really don’t mind— I’m Kouji’s best uncle, I’ve gotta make a good impression!”  


Hikari laughed lightly, saying “You’re his _only_ uncle,” and for a moment Koutarou felt like they were kids again. He could almost see his sister’s younger, teenage self, laughing at his antics from way back when. He missed it a lot, especially at times like the present.  


Eventually, Hikari began to brief him on Kouji’s care, but it was a speech he had already heard before from watching her other kids. He wanted to complain that he wasn’t _that_ forgetful or dense, and that yes, despite being the youngest, he _could_ manage changing a diaper and heating up baby formula for three days. However, Hikari was in total mom-mode, and likely would not have listened to his complaints if he’d raised them. So, Koutarou listened as intently as he could, slightly distracted by Kouji, who was now laying on the counter beside the duffel bag, holding his own feet and looking at Koutarou intently.  


He felt like he was staring back at himself, in a way—just like his own, Kouji’s eyes were a striking gold color. His father had once claimed it was a Bokuto family trait, but Koutarou and Kouji were the only ones who’d he’d ever actually seen with it.  


“Are you still listening to me, Koutarou?”  


“As much as I can the third time around, Nee-chan,” he answered, not missing a beat, eyes still locked on Kouji. He smiled, and the baby smiled back.  


Hikari sighed, and then laughed softly again. “Alright. I trust you, anyway. But don’t trust that little smile. This one’s a real piece of work.” She poked at Kouji’s belly gently, and he giggled. “He’s all smiley and happy now, but once he’s hungry, he’s like a little demon.”  


“Aww, I’m sure he’s fine, Nee-chan!”  


Famous last words, or something like that.

* * *

Despite apparently having plans and errands to attend to, Hikari stuck around for about another hour, hovering between the kitchenette and the hallway as she chatted with Koutarou. She seemed hesitant to leave, and a bit nervous, gaze flitting about the apartment as she spoke.  


“Are you alright?” Koutarou eventually asked softly, leaning against the counter. “It feels like you don’t want to leave.” He looked at Kouji, who they had put in a pop-up crib in the living room—he was fast asleep. “Don’t wanna leave your baby?”  


Hikari leaned against the counter next to him, her own eyes following his gaze. “To be honest, I’m kinda glad I get a break. Having three babies back to back isn’t a lot of fun.”  


Koutarou nodded, unsure of what to say.  


“So that’s not really why I don’t wanna leave.” She leaned her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath. “To be honest, Kou, I... I’ve just been really worried about you lately. Are you really sure you’re okay, living in this apartment by yourself?”  


Koutarou huffed, resting his head against his sister’s. He knew why she was asking, and he tried his best to push those thoughts away. They’d only upset him right now, and he couldn’t go through that if he was going to be taking care of a baby for the next three days.  


“Hikari, I’m fine. I’ve been living on my own for years now. What? You think I’m gonna die of loneliness or something?”  


It came out much meaner than he’d intended, and his heart seized up when she moved her head away. She glared at him. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.” Sighing in exasperation, she continued, “We never get to see each other even though we’re in the same city, and you don’t get to see mom or Naomi a lot either. And I just don’t think it’s healthy for you to be so isolated right now. All things considered.”  


Thankfully, she didn’t articulate her actual meaning. If she had, it would’ve hurt both of them. Koutarou had nothing to say, so after a long pause, Hikari continued.  


“There’s a new apartment complex a few blocks away from where I am now that’s looking for tenants. It’s right by the station, so it wouldn’t be inconvenient for your work. It’s affordable, too. And we’d be able to see each other a lot more. I’ll send you the info, so just think about it, okay?”  


Koutarou made an affirmative noise, but crossed his arms. He wasn’t going anywhere.

* * *

It was evening now, and Koutarou was bored out of his mind.  


Kouji was not at all high maintenance—Koutarou had managed to change him and feed him without getting covered in too many bodily fluids, and contrary to Hikari’s claim that he cried and babbled a lot, he had been mostly quiet and docile.  


Koutarou had heard Akaashi arrive home an hour ago. He had figured he should tell the other he would be babysitting—the walls were paper thin, and if Kouji decided to start crying in the middle of the night, Akaashi would likely be the first person to hear (if memory served, he was a very light sleeper). However, Koutarou couldn’t bring himself to go get up and tell him.  


Part of the reason was that he didn’t want to annoy Akaashi—he most likely wanted to be alone, as he was probably decompressing from work. However, the much larger part of Koutarou’s reasoning was that he was being petty: if he had to hear Akaashi’s gross sex noises through the walls, Akaashi could deal with a surprise crying baby. Koutarou frowned at himself. _I gotta grow up._  


Koutarou ruffled his own hair in frustration, and abruptly sat up from where he had been laying on the couch. Kouji, dozing in his crib, stirred a bit, craning his neck over to look at Koutarou. He didn’t look dissimilar to a cat, and Koutarou chuckled.  


“Mornin’, Kouji.” The baby did not respond, and only continued to stare at him. “Do you miss your mama?” More staring. “Guess not. Wanna go pick up dinner with me?” Nothin’.  


_He’s nothing like Hikari was saying he was like. Was she thinking about the wrong kid? Or maybe he’s just tired?_ Koutarou mused to himself, rummaging through the duffel his sister had left, eventually retrieving the baby carrier. After a few attempts, he managed to secure the straps around his torso properly, and he turned back towards the living room to get Kouji. After a little more fiddling with the carrier, Koutarou managed to get Kouji secured as well.  


Koutarou paused for a moment, watching Kouji quietly as he squirmed around, apparently getting situated. He’d always strangely loved babysitting his sister’s kids—he wondered if having them around triggered some strange sort of paternal instinct in him. He’d never imagined himself as a parent, but in small moments such as these, he let his mind wander a little. When it wandered a little too much into old memories and fancies, he snapped himself back to reality, quickly grabbing his keys and wallet and heading towards the front door.  


Stepping into the hallway and locking the door to his apartment, Koutarou heard footsteps heading up the stairs to his floor. Turning around to briefly greet whoever it was, he paused—it was Akaashi.  


Having also just noticed him, Akaashi had stopped, although his expression was decidedly shocked. One hand was strained against the railing while the other twitched, dropping the mail he had been holding onto the steps. Koutarou suddenly realized how he probably looked to Akaashi in that moment, but before he could say anything, Akaashi spoke, “Koutarou, _why the hell_ do you have a baby strapped to your chest?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is actually just 1000 smaller fics in a trench coat. gotcha.
> 
> please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed!! i don't really respond to comments because i don't know what to say a lot of the time, but they mean soooo much to me <3 i'm gonna try to get the next chapter out this month so stay tuned~


	4. time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa gotta stop making promises about when the next chapter is coming out bc life is kickin my ASS rn! but here it is, the longest chapter yet lol. i hope you enjoy, lots of angst in this one. 
> 
> cw: babies, minor ocs, angst, implied panic attack, implied mental illness, toxic relationship/behavior

Keiji was not one to jump to conclusions (or rather, he liked to believe that he was not). Under normal circumstances, he could quickly gather information and come to a quick understanding of whatever situation he was in. It was a skill he had especially utilized in high school when he played setter, but of course he used it in his day-to-day life—or at least, he thought he did. But perhaps that skill was a bit rusty from misuse.

Because currently, all the information was pointing to a conclusion that was equal parts plausible and batshit insane, and frankly, Keiji was panicking. For the 1000th time in the 3 second period he had paused on the staircase, Keiji reviewed the facts:

> 1\. Whatever Keiji knew about Bokuto’s life currently was vague and surface-level. A life-altering event could easily have happened to Bokuto without Keiji being made aware of it.  
2\. Bokuto slept around, and if memory served, he was not an avid practitioner of safe sex. He generally preferred women over men.  
3\. Bokuto currently had a baby strapped to his chest. The baby had Bokuto’s ridiculous eyes, and mirrored some of his more vacant expressions perfectly. 

Perhaps if Keiji had been in a better state of mind, he would not have suddenly believed that Bokuto had fathered a child in the years they had been apart. Though it wasn’t extremely far-fetched considering the circumstances and their age (hell, half of their former classmates were married with children), it _was_ far-fetched that Keiji wouldn’t know about it. If Bokuto had a kid, everyone in Japan would know—it was definitely the sort of thing he would be prideful about. 

Of course, Keiji only realized this _after_ he had blurted out in disbelief, “Bokuto, why the _hell_ do you have a baby strapped to your chest?”

At first Bokuto floundered goofily, “Uh, why don’t _you_ have a baby strapped to _your_ chest?” For a moment, Keiji was relieved—maybe Bokuto wouldn’t notice the terrible assumption Keiji had just made, and he could go on with his life peacefully. However, Bokuto’s ruffled expression shifted into one of surprise, and then of slight indignance. He had always been more perceptive than he initially let on. “Hey, don’t give me that look! Kouji’s not mine, I swear!” He went to cross his arms, but upon realizing the baby was in the way, he placed his hands on his hips instead.

Keiji swallowed, reaching down to pick up the letters that had fallen onto the steps. Taking a deep breath to collect himself, he adopted a much more level tone of voice than his previous outburst. “I wasn’t thinking that. I was just surprised.”

“Yeah, surprised ‘cause you thought I made a baby,” Bokuto nodded to himself matter-of-factly, and puffed out his chest a little. The baby—Kouji, Keiji assumed he was called—shifted a little and looked up at Bokuto.

“Please don’t say ‘made’. And no, that’s not why I was surprised,” Keiji lied, climbing to the top of the staircase stiffly. “Why _do_ you have a baby right now, though? He’s your sister’s I’m presuming?”

At Bokuto’s nod, Keiji sighed in relief—perhaps his deductive reasoning skills had not completely left him. Bokuto had two older sisters, so it was not a stretch to assume it was a nephew that Bokuto had strapped to his chest. Shock had just blindsided Keiji, that was all. _Sure_, he thought to himself, biting his lip anxiously. _Just shock._

Bokuto adjusted the baby carrier slightly, looking down at Kouji as he spoke. “Yeah, he’s Hikari’s youngest kid, if you remember her much. I was gonna, um, warn you I was babysitting earlier but uh...” He trailed off, still not looking at Keiji as he continued to fiddle with the carrier. After straightening the carrier out, he caught himself, and finished, “I lost track of time and forgot. Whoops!”

“Whoops,” Keiji repeated with deadpan sarcasm. Studying the baby, he asked, “How long are you watching him for?” Keiji prayed to the gods that Kouji wasn’t a fussy baby. The walls in the complex were disgustingly thin, and Keiji was barely sleeping at night as it already was.

“Uh, like, three days I guess? Three nights too.”

He must have made some sort of disappointed expression, because Bokuto laughed nervously, unconsciously leaning away from Keiji. His hands fell from his hips, and folded behind him. “Ha, sorry. It was kinda an emergency last minute sorta thing...”

Keiji nodded, and then felt a pang of concern. If Bokuto was watching the baby, he would be stuck at the apartment and unable to work. Though he knew it was inappropriate and condescending for him to worry about Bokuto’s financial situation, he couldn’t help himself. Bokuto made considerably less than himself, he knew that much—and if that was the case, three days out of work for Bokuto was some cause for alarm.

Straightening out the mail in his hands and not looking Bokuto in the eyes, Keiji asked, “Were you able to get off work for all three days? And is your sister at least paying you for this? Missing a few days of work adds up fast, especially when it’s just part-time.” He internally cringed at his own words, but held his ground. Regardless of if he sounded like a nagging parent, he wanted Bokuto to be alright—even if that meant browbeating some sense into him.

_Pretending I don’t give a shit isn’t worth the trouble_, he thought to himself, taking a deep breath. He didn’t look at Bokuto’s expression, instead focused on Kouji’s blank, curious gaze.

Bokuto huffed and placed his hands on his hips again, although his posture was decidedly less confident than it had been before. He rolled his shoulders a bit as he spoke. “‘Just part time’, wow. I was able to get most of my shifts off. I have to go to the market on Sunday, but there’s a nice obaa-san who works there who said she could watch him for me. It’s just a couple hours. And no, Hikari isn’t paying me.” He looked away from Keiji in a manner that seemed simultaneously ashamed and chagrined.

“I see,” Keiji paused, and looked down at his hands. A silence passed between them, during which Keiji considered dropping the issue. This situation was a prelude to an argument, he knew that much—it felt painfully familiar to how their arguments started back when they had been dating. But even knowing that, Keiji couldn’t fully stop himself; Bokuto’s lack of foresight had always made his blood boil, especially when all it did was make Bokuto’s life harder. After another deep breath, Keiji looked up at the other’s face and spoke. “Can you really afford that right now? All things considered.”

As Keiji had both feared and expected, that set Bokuto off. The other narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. He puffed an angry breath out of his nose, jostling Kouji a bit as he straightened out his back imposingly. “Why do you even care? Look, sometimes—“ He paused as if he was considering his words, and raked a hand through his hair aggressively. “I know it’s a foreign fucking concept to you or whatever, but sometimes you just have to make sacrifices like that for family. Hikari’s more important to me than half a week’s paycheck, Akaashi! I’ve done this before and I can handle it! And I don’t even consider it a sacrifice, ‘cause I’m not an _asshole_!”

Keiji’s hands balled into fists, and he raised his voice as he shot back unthinkingly, “Oh, don’t you dare lecture me about sacrifice, Bokuto! It pisses me off because you just don’t _think_—ever! You think you’re well-equipped to handle a baby—you can barely take care of yourself!” A slew of concerns that Keiji kept in the back of his mind came bubbling up to the surface in an instant, memories both new and old playing like a slideshow in his mind’s eye. The image of Bokuto, after work, completely exhausted and slightly drunk as he hung over the railing of his apartment. A younger Bokuto, hunched over their shared bed, shaking as he spoke to Keiji in hushed, ragged tones. A Bokuto from high school, tightly wrapped around him, face buried in Keiji’s shoulder as he held back tears.

Bokuto’s face flushed with renewed anger. “I’m not lecturing you about anything! You’re the one that never stops fucking lecturing people! I just—stop treating me like—like a fucking baby!” 

As if on cue, Kouji let out a strained groan, before bursting into loud, messy tears. Both Keiji and Bokuto froze, dropping the aggressive stances they had adopted mid-argument. Immediately, Bokuto busied himself with calming the baby down—his voice softened, and his movements became almost unbelievably gentle. Keiji just stood there, slightly dumbfounded as he watched.

After a bit of nervous flailing, Bokuto checked over Kouji—or at least, Keiji believed that’s what he was doing. Frankly, Keiji had no idea how babies worked, nor any idea what Bokuto seemed to be doing to calm Kouji down. Whatever it was, the wailing quickly subsided, and after Bokuto pulled out a pacifier from seemingly midair, the crying quickly stopped as well. In the quiet that came afterward, he and Keiji shared a deep sigh of relief. The quiet continued for a minute after that, but neither of them spoke or made to leave. 

_Idiot_, Keiji berated himself, sighing again as he crossed his arms gently. “I... I apologize. I shouldn’t have raised my voice.” There was another beat of silence before Keiji continued, “I hate arguing with you, Bokuto.”

The other looked at him with an expression that was hard to read. His lips were slightly pursed and his eyebrows were knit together, but his eyes were soft. He puffed a short breath out of his nose, and grumbled, “If you hate arguing with me, then don’t pick fights, Akaashi.” Bokuto looked away again, suddenly sheepish. “And I’m sorry too. For—the stuff I said. I know you’re only an asshole because you care.”

The small acknowledgement from Bokuto that at least on some level he understood the reason behind Keiji’s actions made him wince. That fact separated this argument from the countless they had had in the past, and it stung. It had taken years apart for the two to actually understand each other, and it _stung_. He wanted to speak, he wanted to explain himself further, but Bokuto was still talking.

“But I’ve changed a lot, okay? I can handle this. I know what I’m doing, even though I know you don’t think I do. Everything’s fine.”

The mail Keiji was holding had been crumpled by his grip, and he nervously flattened it out with his thumbs, looking away from Bokuto. “I know you can handle it. I just... I don’t know.” 

But Bokuto just nodded, also not looking at him. “I think I get it Keiji. But like... I’m good, okay?” Another silence was shared between them, only broken up by the soft sucking sounds of Kouji’s pacifier. Keiji didn’t trust his words anymore, and mirrored Bokuto’s nod, brushing past him to get into his own apartment. Bokuto left without another word.

* * *

Keiji’s hand shook as he lit another cigarette and took another drag. His throat was starting to burn, and self-directed anger simmered low in his stomach. He had been repressing his emotions for a reason. 

He had _known_ that he was going to fall back into his bad habit of overbearance, and had tried to prevent it. He’d pushed Bokuto away, he’d ignored him, and even when he’d let the other in, he held him at arm’s length with a wall in between them. And yet despite all that, here he was, dealing with the consequences of both caring too much and being a control freak. He took another painful drag of his cigarette, and coughed as he put it out against the railing. He flicked the bud off over the side, sighing as he leaned forward, resting his head on his arms. His head buzzed with guilt, and the ache in his stomach worsened.

Keiji had convinced himself he’d hated Bokuto after their breakup. He’d convinced himself that the feelings he’d had for the other had only ever been infatuation, part of a general longing for affection rather than actual love. He’d convinced himself that the great fissure that formed in their relationship hadn’t been anyone’s fault, that it was just two people realizing they weren’t in love anymore, making each other miserable. Just two people that had a messy breakup, and a messier relationship. But he knew it wasn’t true. The feelings had never dissipated, and he was self-aware enough to understand how he had hurt the other. 

_And now what?_ Keiji thought to himself pitifully, gazing up at the night sky. No stars were visible, and the moon was just a sliver of light slashed across the inky blackness. He thought about Bokuto too much, and he cared too much, and he’d hurt him too much.

And now he was stuck.

* * *

Koutarou stabbed at the cup ramen with his chopsticks, grumbling when the broth splashed up, hitting him in the face. It had been two hours since his argument with Akaashi, and he was still fuming.

“How dare Keiji, thinkin’ he can just come in and boss me around like that,” he complained into his noodles. “We haven’t had an actual conversation in literal years! He doesn’t know anything about me!” Kouji, sitting nearby in his playpen, babbled in what Koutarou pretended was agreement.

“Right? Exactly.” 

Akaashi’s attitude did annoy him, but not for the reason Koutarou felt comfortable expressing aloud (even if Kouji would be the only one to ever hear it). And it didn’t _really_ annoy him—on some level, it was touching to know that Akaashi of all people cared about him (even if the way he expressed this was flawed, to say the least). So no, the issue wasn’t the nagging, nor was it Akaashi’s strange way of showing affection. The issue was that said nagging was terribly demoralizing. And it made him feel so, _so_ guilty.

He’d been hearing it from his mother and sisters for months now—how they were worried, how they wanted him to move out of the apartment and come home. Despite the fact that he liked Kyoto, and despite the fact that he was making progress, what with his plans to go back to school and much-improved budgeting skills. From them, it was somewhat tolerable, for they had seen him struggle, and helped him in his recovery. But having Akaashi of all people swoop in after years of absence and immediately criticize how he lived his life was different—it was demoralizing, insulting, and it _hurt_. It had always hurt, when it came from Akaashi, especially since Koutarou _knew_ he was doing it out of love.

“Love, huh...” he mumbled to himself through his noodles, staring blankly off into the apartment. The idea that Akaashi’s attitude was borne out of some sort of _love_ for Koutarou made his stomach drop, and the guilt that had been lapping at his ankles rose to his waist. Way back then, when they had arguments like this, Akaashi hadn’t been in the wrong. He hadn’t taken care of himself, and he didn’t get help—he relinquished responsibility for himself, and suffered because of it. And back then, he’d been just as pissed at Akaashi as he currently was.

But hindsight was twenty-twenty, and hindsight told him that wasn’t as justified as he once thought it had been.

As he finished his cup ramen, Koutarou frowned. He’d been so lost in thought he hadn’t even registered the taste. Kouji’s babbling had turned into what sounded like whining—he was staring at him through the netted wall of the playpen, eyes watering and face pulled into a frown that matched his own.

“Aww, are you hungry too, Kouji?”

An ear-splitting cry was what Koutarou got in response.

* * *

That night and the following day went well—although Kouji was slightly fussy, he was not by any means unmanageable. Admittedly, Koutarou found it somewhat enjoyable and satisfying, _especially_ when he was able to bring Kouji out in public to show him off.

It was Sunday, and Koutarou was at the fish market for his usual morning shift. The original plan was to pass Kouji off to a nearby stall-owner while he worked, and return home by noon. That plan had not come to fruition.

Rather than being stationed by one of the food-stalls as he usually was, his boss had plopped him down on a stool near the market’s entrance, with Kouji in tow. Upon seeing Koutarou with the baby, Suzuki-san (a burly older woman with a bubbly disposition that did not at all match her appearance) had clasped her hands together girlishly and cooed, “Aww, well if that ain’t the cutest thing I ever saw!” Koutarou would be lying if he said he didn’t like the attention—even if the attention was more so related to Kouji than it was to him.

The cycle of co-workers and regulars (as well as random passerby) fawning over him continued over the course of his “shift”, and it really put Koutarou in an amazing mood. He didn’t get fawned over any more; perhaps it was something to do with his age, or maybe his personality had changed in ways he couldn’t perceive, but people didn’t look at Koutarou the same way they had in high school or college. It was a nice change of pace, to have admiring glances and gestures thrown his way. It was validating, although Koutarou didn’t exactly know what part of him was being validated by the attention.

However, what was good for Koutarou was decidedly _not_ what was good for Kouji. Over the course of three hours, he had gotten increasingly restless. Kouji’s shifting around in the baby carrier had turned more into thrashing, and his typical babbling had turned into low whining and pathetic half-cries. Fortunately, Kouji didn’t throw a fit as Koutarou bid goodbye to his co-workers, or on the short train ride home. Unfortunately, Kouji began throwing a fit the moment Koutarou entered the apartment, and would not stop for _anything_.

Panicked, Koutarou ran a hand through his hair, mumbling to himself weakly. “Okay, okay, it’s not his diaper, he’s not eating so he’s probably not hungry, he won’t let me hold him and he just freaks out more when I rock the crib... Is he overstimulated? How the hell do I fix an overstimulated baby?!” 

The tantrum continued for the next few hours, with Kouji’s crying starting and stopping at random intervals. Sometimes, the crying seemed to be over a specific issue, and Koutarou was able to both feed and change him. However, much of it seemed to be without reason, and Koutarou was at a loss. Before, Koutarou had welcomed Kouji’s little disruptions—it filled the deafening silence of the apartment that made his ears ring, and gave him something meaningful to do. But now the ear-piercing shrieking was all he could hear, and nothing Koutarou did seemed to help the situation much at all. His head pounded painfully, and his eyes watered in frustration. Koutarou hated feeling so helpless.

* * *

Keiji put a hand up to his face in a gesture of pity, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

He’d heard Koutarou return to the apartment around one o’clock—no, that wasn’t right. Keiji had heard _Kouji_ return to the apartment around one o’clock. Even before Keiji had heard the door to Koutarou’s apartment open, the baby’s wailing had echoed up the stairwell and throughout the hall, permeating the thin walls of his apartment. The tantrum then continued for nearly an hour, so Keiji had decided to leave. He spent the majority of the afternoon in a cafe, pretending to do work but mostly just sitting with his tea, contemplating what to do about his current situation.

So when he returned home in the evening to find Kouji still screaming like a maniac within Bokuto’s apartment, Keiji became a bit concerned. Of course, it was possible that it was a different tantrum, and that the baby would settle down soon. But once again, nearly an hour passed, and the tantrum was ongoing, interspersed with brief moments of quiet. 

Worried, Keiji stood, nervously walking over to the entrance of the apartment. Pausing in the genkan as Kouji’s crying settled, Keiji’s mind raced. Had the crying been continuous the entire day? How had Bokuto been handling it? Was he just unable to calm the baby down, or had he just given up, consumed by the stress? Was Bokuto even okay—was he even in the apartment still? Though he could hear Kouji, he couldn’t hear Bokuto at all, not even when the wailing stopped. Concern mounting, Keiji swallowed his hesitation, opening the door with resolve, and frantically knocked on Bokuto’s door, his eyes locked anxiously on the handle.

For a moment, nothing. Bokuto’s apartment was completely silent. But then, he heard the unlocking of the deadbolt and the door, and Kouji’s crying started up again. Keiji was met with Bokuto’s face, which nearly made him want to cry himself.

Bokuto had been run completely ragged. His hair was strewn all about, some strands even drooping enough to fall down in front of his face. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes were red and watery—he’d certainly been crying. He looked at Keiji with an expression that was difficult to look at: he was defeated, upset, and looked almost guilty. For a moment, Keiji feared he would say some self-directed disparaging thing like, “Guess you were right, Keiji, I really wasn’t able to handle it,” but thankfully, he didn’t. Instead, he let out a jumbled, awkward apology that Keiji didn’t even attempt to start following. 

Keiji cut Bokuto off by stepping forward, raising his hand up in a gesture which signaled him to stop. Giving him a serious look, Keiji spoke levelly, “Don’t give me that right now. Tap out for a minute, okay?”

Bokuto gave him a puzzled expression. “Tap out?”

“Take a break. Step into the hallway or on the porch. Just take a break.”

“But Kouji—“ Bokuto started, cutting himself off as Keiji brushed past him into the apartment. 

“I’ve got it for a couple minutes, okay? Just take a moment to collect yourself.”

Bokuto quickly shut the door, crossing the apartment to escape onto the porch without a word. Keiji’s heart clenched as he watched Bokuto slump over the railing outside, hands scraping against his scalp as he hung his head pathetically. 

For a moment, Kouji had gone quiet again, and Keiji took the opportunity to take in his surroundings. He hadn’t seen a glimpse of Bokuto’s apartment in the months he had lived in the complex, and it felt so terribly strange. It didn’t feel like an apartment owned by Bokuto, or at least the one he had known. It was so different, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel.

Immediately, he could tell all the furniture in the apartment were secondhand pieces, likely from Bokuto’s parents’ house. Much of it was older, traditional furniture. Though there was a couch, the coffee table seemed to be an old floor table, likely from his parents’ sitting room. Paintings hung on the wall depicted old, pastoral scenes of the Japanese countryside, and random traditional items dotted the entire apartment, on shelves and counters and end tables. The umbrella holder by the door was filled with ancient looking parasols, as well as what appeared to be an old pair of crutches. It felt more like an old married couple’s house than the apartment of a young man in his mid-twenties. 

Walking cautiously over to Kouji’s crib, Keiji stared blankly at the baby. He really hadn’t thought through what his plan was going to be—he didn’t know the first thing about children. He couldn’t talk through problems with someone who couldn’t speak, so for a moment Keiji just stood there, hands awkwardly twitching in front of him as he contemplated what to do. Eventually, he reached down tentatively into the crib—perhaps being held would help. As he grabbed onto Kouji, the sliding glass door rattled open and shut, and Bokuto’s voice called out over Kouji’s wailing.

“Hey, if you’re gonna pick him up, make sure you’re supporting his head!”

Keiji froze and retracted his hands. Kouji’s crying reverted to quiet whining as he stared up at the pair, looking terribly upset and confused. 

Keiji’s face must have also been wearing a confused expression, because Bokuto huffed a bit of a laugh and reached into the crib. Effortlessly lifting up Kouji, he said “Like this.” as he demonstrated, holding Kouji tight to his chest with one hand supporting the back of his head. Kouji quieted down further and grabbed onto Bokuto’s shirt gently, perhaps responding to Bokuto’s collected state. Keiji thought his heart was going to melt. 

Softly, Keiji asked, “Are you okay now?”

Bokuto responded with a weak smile. “Yeah. I needed that breather. He’s been like this all day since I got home from work. I think all the stimulation stressed him out; I feel bad.”

“Don’t feel bad,” Keiji murmured, still looking at Kouji nuzzled against Bokuto’s chest. Bokuto gave Keiji a surprised look, which shifted into one of wordless gratitude a moment later. Keiji felt like they had finally reached some level of understanding, but as he opened his mouth to continue, he was interrupted by another loud cry.

Their conversation would have to wait.

* * *

It was later, much later, and the pair was exhausted.

Bokuto was currently on the floor of his living room, sprawled out next to a sleeping Kouji. Keiji watched the two from where he sat on the couch almost listlessly, brain completely worn out from the past three hours. They’d managed to get Kouji fed and bathed, though Keiji wasn’t even sure how—Kouji was a special type of uncooperative, in a way that made Keiji confused as to why anyone would ever want children in the first place. 

Kouji shifted a bit in his sleep, causing the mat under him to crinkle. The only other sounds in the apartment were Keiji and Bokuto’s out of sync breathing. _Peaceful_, Keiji observed, feeling the tension bleed out of him as he took a deep breath and sunk into the couch cushions. 

He could feel Bokuto’s eyes on him, and leaned his head over the side of the couch to look back. The other was on his side, slightly curled up against the mat where Kouji lay. There wasn’t much in his expression—Keiji felt like he was being studied, but it was in great contrast to the way he often felt Tendou look at him. They just stared at each other like that for a few minutes, until Bokuto closed his eyes tiredly. Keiji let his own eyes shut as well—his brain was practically screaming at him to leave, but he felt comfortable, as well as too exhausted to move.

Bokuto’s fatigued voice broke the silence. “Hey, Keiji.”

Keiji didn’t move or open his eyes, but responded. “Yes?”

He heard the other shift around slightly, moving a bit closer to the couch from where he lay on the floor. “Uh... I just wanna thank you. I appreciate you checkin’ on me, and helpin’ out with Kouji.” A pause. “Like, a lot.”

Keiji took a deep breath. “You’re welcome. It wasn’t a problem.”

Bokuto made a noise of acknowledgement, continuing, “And I know that when we argued before, you were trying to help too, in your own Keiji way... but this was, I don’t know, more ‘constructive’ I guess?”

It didn’t seem like a phrase Bokuto would use, and Keiji briefly wondered if he had learned it in therapy—if Bokuto had ever even been to therapy. Sitting up, Keiji opened his eyes, looking at the other. It seemed Bokuto had been staring at him, although he quickly looked away as Keiji leveled him with his gaze. For a moment, Bokuto appeared panicked, and Keiji realized he may have taken his own sudden movement as an act of aggression. He kept his voice soft as he responded to Bokuto, “No, I agree. Nagging you about what you already know isn’t helpful. I apologize.”

Bokuto’s eyes snapped over to meet Keiji’s, his face painted with shock—Keiji almost felt offended for a moment. But just as swiftly as Bokuto looked back at him, he looked away again, his features molding into an expression that was far more sullen. A long silence overtook the apartment for a few minutes. Keiji opened his mouth to break the quiet, but Bokuto spoke first in a meek murmur.

“Keiji, yaknow, back when we were dating...”

He trailed off, looking back up at Keiji with wide eyes, as if he was trying to let his expression do the talking for him. Keiji shook his head, and wrung his hands nervously as he looked away.

“Koutarou, no. I don’t—let’s not talk about this now, okay? We’re both tired, and we were just fighting... I don’t want either of us to say anything we don’t mean.”

Bokuto stared at him for a couple moments more, expression unreadable, and then gave Keiji a short nod of understanding. To fix the rift in between them, there would be a lot of issues they needed to unpack first—and now was not the time.

* * *

_But when _is_ the time?_ Keiji asked himself for the thousandth time the same question that had been eating at him all day. His fingers twitched over the keyboard in his office as he got lost in his own thoughts and memories, turning over past mistakes in his head over and over again. Part of the problem before was not confronting their issues—and here he was, letting it happen now as well. Willingly.

* * *

The memory that he felt the most, like a piece of sheet metal stuck in his side, was one from the argument that had been at the center of their breakup. 

Admittedly, he wasn’t sure if they’d been in their bedroom or the living room when the yelling match had started, but in his memories, they were always in the latter room, with Bokuto a few steps outside of the genkan, suitcase of belongings by his side. They’d decided to “take a break” at this point, with Bokuto insisting he “give Keiji space” by going to live with his parents for the rest of the semester. And in Keiji’s memories, they’d argued the entire time Bokuto had packed—not about Bokuto leaving, but about their problems with each other. Keiji regretted that a lot.

In this particular part of the memory, Bokuto was ranting on about how difficult school had become, and how little Keiji had done to help him. “You said you’d help me out, but all you do is tell me how shitty I am at everything, how I don’t even try! But do you realize how hard it is to try when fucking everything in my life is going to absolute shit?!” 

Keiji remembered he had said that, but not what he was referring to. Many details about Bokuto had been expunged from his memory—after they officially broke things off, Keiji had tried his best to forget. Bokuto had been such an integral part of his life for so long that it was less painful to forget than it was to remember. 

And Keiji remembered what he’d said to Bokuto in response, and as much as he wished he had said it kinder, even now he still agreed with it in principle. “I know you’re hurting. But I can’t do shit to help you if you don’t _help yourself_!”

The details around that exchange were hazy, again, blurred by both Keiji’s anger at the time, as well as the plethora of feelings that came afterward which encouraged him to rid them from his memories. But the moment that he still remembered distinctly and clearly was the moment Bokuto physically left the apartment—the last time Keiji saw the other before reuniting in Kyoto years later. 

Bokuto had cried at some point. His face was flushed and his eyes were red and watery. The door to the apartment was open, his suitcase out in the hall, but Bokuto was still in the genkan standing right in front of Keiji, staring at him desperately. He had pulled Keiji into a deep, tight hug, and buried his face into his neck—the type of affection Bokuto reserved only for his most vulnerable moments. He’d seen it once in high school, when they’d lost during the final round at nationals. He’d seen it again in Bokuto’s first year of college, when he’d been told his injury meant he couldn’t pursue volleyball professionally. And then it had been the third time, when Bokuto was sure that he and Keiji were through.

After a couple minutes, Bokuto had pulled away from the embrace slowly, his hands still gripping Keiji’s shoulders. “You know I love you, don’t you Keiji? No matter what.” He had searched Keiji’s expression miserably, eyebrows knit together in concern as he had hoped for a similarly heartfelt response. 

But Keiji never gave him one. At the time, he’d been so afraid that they would both unravel completely, and if he held on either too tightly or too loosely, they would become undone for good. He had hoped that after their break, they would both have cooled enough to function as both individuals and as a couple. He had believed that the key was to let Bokuto learn to take care of himself, and as a result, he became cold.

“I know, Koutarou.”

He’d said nothing after that. Bokuto had left without another word, and nothing that followed went at all according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reading the most recent hq chapters makes me feel so guilty, i feel like i've robbed my boys of the happiness they deserve by writing this... also i did not think through kouji's name that well, i'm so sorry to any dyslexic readers lmao
> 
> drop a kudos/comment if you enjoyed!! i appreciate every kudos and cherish every comment, thank you all for the support so far :D
> 
> i'm not making promises about chapter releases, but hopefully the next few will come soon...


	5. introspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me writing this fic is literally just the "it's all coming together" meme lmfao. sorry this took so long, i think this fic is just destined to be a once a month type deal... i'm working on that, though! i hope you enjoy.
> 
> content warning at the end bc minor spoilers, nothing too intense as usual

Hikari returned the next afternoon to retrieve Kouji. The stress of the previous evening had mostly subsided for Koutarou, and Kouji had calmed down as well—however, he still felt a hollow exhaustion, both physical and emotional, that made it difficult to even answer the door when Hikari rang the bell.

Upon seeing Koutarou’s disheveled state, Hikari’s expression almost immediately molded into one of pity. Walking through the threshold, she frowned, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder, “You alright, Kou? I’m really still sorry about all this.” 

Koutarou shrugged, waving her off as casually as he could as he reached around her to shut the door. “Nee-chan, seriously, I said before it wasn’t a big deal and it still isn’t! Kouji was pretty well-behaved anyway. We just had, uh, a bit of a _day_ yesterday, yaknow?”

Hikari nodded sympathetically, immediately heading towards Kouji who was sitting up in his crib, staring at the two of them blankly. “He’s temperamental.” Picking him up, she bounced him around playfully, “Very temperamental, aren’t you Kou-chan?” As if to prove her point, Kouji immediately began to giggle, and then whined when Hikari shifted to hold him normally. 

In that moment, Koutarou felt a pang of affection for his sister, and then something like pride. He let himself indulge in reminiscence for a moment. “Hikari, remember when you were worried you wouldn’t be a good mom?”

She looked up at him in surprise, and pulled Kouji a bit closer to her. Kouji, back to looking bored, just nuzzled into her chest, staring back at Koutarou too.

“I just, I really think you had nothing to worry about. You’re doing great, so don’t sell yourself short, okay?”

Hikari flushed bright pink, and told him off for being sappy while dabbing at her eyes with her coat sleeve. Like Koutarou, she was weak to flattery, especially when said flattery addressed her insecurities. It made Koutarou feel good to know that despite the recent distance that had come between them, he still _knew_ his sister as well as he had when they were younger.

And a part of him desperately hoped that that was true for certain others in his life as well. 

* * *

Keiji let out a long sigh of relief as he heard the chatter through his apartment wall—he couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew the noise meant that Bokuto’s sister had come to pick up her baby.

Keiji hadn’t slept at all the previous night. Though mercifully the baby hadn’t had another fit the entire night, Keiji had been unable to stop worrying about Bokuto. Concerns both old and new had flooded his mind, and he felt the need to act, to help, to comfort—feelings he wished he could’ve felt long ago, back when their relationship was first becoming strained. The regret had hung over him like a cloud that entire day, not just regret from their relationship, but also regret from the previous night. It had been a good opportunity to at least start and address their issues, yet Keiji had completely blown Bokuto off. 

Keiji’s hands shook slightly as he flipped through his mail, a testament to how exhausted he felt. Both physically and emotionally, his encounter with Bokuto had been quite the ordeal, and now he wanted nothing more than to curl up in his bed, and ignore the world until he was forced to face it again at work tomorrow. 

Ascending the stairs back up to his apartment, he heard the click of a lock, followed by the slight creak of doorhinges that seemed to afflict every apartment in the building. As he reached the top of the stairwell, Keiji was greeted with the sight of Bokuto’s sister, and for a moment, he felt real, _visceral_ fear.

Back in high school, Keiji hadn’t known Bokuto’s two older sisters well, although he knew _of_ them, and plenty _about_ them. They occasionally came to Fukurodani’s games, sometimes with one of Bokuto’s parents in tow. Bokuto was the baby of the family, and his sisters especially spoiled him terribly. And according to Konoha, they were both quite overprotective of Bokuto as well, to the point where in his first year, they nearly beat the fear of god into an upperclassman girl that had humiliated him on Valentine’s Day. 

Though Keiji had no way of knowing if that story was actually true, since the details changed depending on who you asked and when, he still felt afraid. If they had smacked around a girl who had rudely spurned Bokuto’s advances years ago, who knew what either one of them would do to the man who practically broke their little brother’s heart in half?

But Hikari didn’t seem to recognize him. As she passed him to head down the steps, she just gave him a mildly confused but polite smile, holding her baby a bit closer to her chest. Snapping back to reality, Keiji righted himself, and quickly unlocked the door to his apartment with stuttering hands. Taking a deep breath, he calmed his hand enough to turn the knob. _You’re ridiculous_, he berated himself, and moved to step inside. 

Peering back out to the stairwell as he stepped inside his apartment, he saw Hikari had froze at the top of the steps, looking as though she had seen a ghost. Recognition flashed in her eyes, but before she had the chance to react, Keiji had shut the door, quickly locking it behind him. He sighed roughly, attempting to calm himself down, but a feeling of unease had settled in his stomach.

_That’s... not my problem now._

* * *

As summer drew to a close, Keiji’s relationship with Bokuto began to change. The wall between them had been brought down—literally.

At some point in early August, the two had graduated from splitting a beer over the railing of their balconies to splitting a few beers together in Bokuto’s apartment. And not long after that, they had switched over from beer to tea, an incident Keiji still found amusing despite himself.

Since they’d started their casual little get-togethers, Keiji had drank practically every night for a few weeks. And though it was “just beer” (as Bokuto put it) it did put a strain on his body. He was getting older and his body wasn’t the healthiest anymore, so hangovers were becoming both more common and more irritating. They didn’t affect his work thankfully (he could probably do his job without a brain anyway) but he was getting sick of feeling shittier than usual. So one night when Bokuto had handed him a beer, Keiji had just stuck his hand up. “No thanks.”

Bokuto’s reaction to that had been comical—he had been so confused, eyebrows drawn together and eyes opened wide. It was understandable—they’d been hanging out on the pretense of being drinking buddies, so why had Keiji bothered coming over if he wasn’t going to drink?

Keiji then explained the hangover situation to him, and Bokuto nodded dumbly, seemingly lost in thought. His expression had then shifted into one of excitement, “You want some tea then?”

“I thought you hated tea. Do you even have any?”

Bokuto looked cocky, putting his hands on his hips confidently. “How could I call myself Japanese if I hated tea, Keiji? Come take a look at this.” At that he spun on his heel and headed toward the kitchenette, gaze flitting back over his shoulder to make sure Keiji was following. It reminded Keiji of high school, back when Bokuto would look for his approval after a particularly cool spike or bump, and it did things to his heart that he wasn’t quite comfortable feeling again.

With a flourish, Bokuto opened the twin cupboards above the sink, revealing a tea collection that would put any old woman to shame. 

Keiji hadn’t known how to react. Blinking stupidly, he’d just asked, “Koutarou, why?”

Bokuto had just laughed heartily, “Right? It’s so weird!”

As Keiji carefully picked over the extensive selection of teas, Bokuto explained. “Yeah, my mom is like a part of this service that sends samples of these nice, fancy teas to her every month. So she sends me whatever tea she doesn’t end up liking which is, uh,” he gestured to the cupboards again, “most of what they send her.”

“I see,” Keiji had responded, picking out an unopened package of black tea. And from then on, they sat and drank tea together nearly every day, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

* * *

Their relationship wasn’t normal. That had been drilled into Koutarou’s head by nearly everyone he had talked to about it in the past month. When he’d told Kuroo, he had been blasted through the phone, and he’d gotten a similar response from Tsukishima, who managed to be even more biting over text. 

He’d talked to his sister as well—she’d recognized Keiji entering his apartment, and originally thought that they had gotten back together. Hikari was the only one in their family who knew about the true nature of his relationship with Keiji, and had helped him through the most painful parts of their breakup. As a result, she was particularly incensed by the subject, and only grew angrier when she found out the truth. “You shouldn’t even give that asshole the time of day, Koutarou! Fuck him!” 

(She’d hung up on him when he’d just responded with “Well, if you say so.”)

It was a tiring sentiment to hear from everyone, and made him feel a bit frustrated at his past self. With all the pain and confusion he’d gone through during their breakup, he had made it seem to others as though it was a result of Keiji’s character rather than a mutual lack of communication and understanding. ‘Keiji was an asshole, so of course their relationship fell apart’—that’s what he had felt back then, and that’s what had stuck with those who had helped him get through it. But it was hard to articulate the truth to people who had always supported him. It made him feel embarrassed to expose himself like that, so he didn’t attempt to explain his new realizations to anyone. Instead, he just brushed off the criticism, and continued to indulge himself by spending time with Keiji.

Even though said indulgence wasn’t really getting him anywhere.

Koutarou had hoped by now that they would’ve talked about their relationship, at least just a little. He’d thought about broaching the topic a few times, but hadn’t had the heart to go through with it. Keiji always looked so strangely zen when he was over, posture relaxed against the kitchen chair as he listened to whatever Koutarou had decided to blab about that day. Koutarou didn’t want to have a hand in destroying that peace. Not again.

Keiji had that same peaceful look to him now as he leaned against the kitchen counter, listening to Koutarou talk as he prepared their tea. Koutarou had been itching to try out the new teas his mother had sent him, particularly the matcha—though he personally wasn’t the biggest fan of tea (at least not to the extent Keiji was), he’d always had a weakness for matcha. 

He wasn’t talking about anything in particular as he worked, but Keiji was attentive anyway, chiming in at random intervals that was deeply reminiscent of their early interactions in high school, right when they were bridging the gap between being teammates and being friends. At that realization, a whole flood of memories came back to Koutarou in a rush, causing his hand to stutter and matcha powder to spill out of the bowl he was mixing it in. The matcha had him remembering stuff, too.

“You alright?” Keiji asked him. His voice was neutral, but his eyebrows furrowed just _so_ to make his expression seem somewhat sympathetic. 

“Haha, yeah... I was just thinking about high school...” When there was just silence, Koutarou cringed a bit. “Do you think that’s weird?”

Keiji just shook his head. “No, not really.” And after that, just more silence.

_You’re killing me here, Keiji!_ Koutarou thought to himself, frustrated, finishing up the tea clumsily. He handed Keiji his mug, and they both took their first sip simultaneously. That act in itself in combination with the taste of the matcha brought another high school memory back to Koutarou, and wanting desperately to fill the awkward quiet, he started talking about it.

“Hey, do you remember like, back when your mom used to have some of the team over and would do that whole tea ceremony thing?”

Keiji’s expression immediately shifted from neutral to mildly disgusted. “Ugh, please don’t remind me of that. It still embarrasses me.”

“What! That’s not embarrassing, I thought it was cool!” Koutarou frowned, taking another sip of his tea.

Keiji’s mother was probably the platonic ideal of a traditional housewife, with emphasis on the traditional. Koutarou had never seen her wear anything but kimono, and despite the fact that Keiji’s house was as modern as modern Tokyo homes got, the entire place was outfitted in traditional furniture, flooring, everything. That was, apparently, in according with her wishes—Keiji had told him his father was rather utilitarian, and just gave his wife free-reign to do whatever she wished, so that she wasn’t bored. In addition to her home and clothing being traditional, her mannerisms were as well. She was hospitable and demure in a way Koutarou had never actually seen someone behave outside of period dramas, and one thing she insisted on nearly every time Keiji had guests over was the tea ceremony. 

It was less of a ceremony and more of a form of entertainment, at least to Koutarou. They would sit in front of Keiji’s mother, and watch her as she methodically went through the steps of making matcha. Sometimes, she would instruct them on how it was done, while other times, she would tell a story. On rare occasions, she even performed in silence—usually when it was just Koutarou and Keiji. The first few times, Koutarou had thought it was strange, even though it was interesting. But after a few times seeing it, he always found himself transfixed. Her movements were precise and her gaze keen; it really made him realize just how similar Keiji was to his mother, and it made him wonder how similar he was to his own parents.

Keiji apparently had been taught how to do the performance as well, although Koutarou had never seen it fully. Whenever Keiji’s mother insisted he perform, Keiji would wave her off, flustered. The only time Keiji had ever come close to doing the ceremony was back when they were living together, if Koutarou remembered correctly. Koutarou didn’t remember the specifics of the memory, but he knew Keiji had been attempting to calm him down, probably after some disaster involving his grades. They were both sitting at the low table in the living room. Their legs were tangled up in each other, and Keiji was speaking to him in soft, low tones as he prepared tea for them. Koutarou didn’t remember what Keiji was saying—just the slow movements of his hands and the hum of his voice. 

Koutarou was startled out of his reverie by the sound of Keiji’s mug clinking against the kitchen countertop. Flushing pink, as if he had been caught red-handed thinking about things he shouldn’t have, Koutarou looked over to Keiji in a panic. But Keiji wasn’t looking at him—he was staring out the sliding glass window, seeming completely lost in thought. His fingers fidgeted around nothing, and Koutarou briefly wondered if he wanted a smoke. The thought sent a pang of concern running through Koutarou that he couldn’t help.

“You alright, Keiji?”

Keiji seemed similarly startled back to reality at the sound of his voice. “Oh. I’m fine. Just thinking.”

_What are you thinking about?_ Koutarou wanted to ask, wondering if Keiji was thinking about the same things he was. But he held his tongue. He felt like he knew where that conversation would lead, and despite his anxiousness to have a real conversation with Keiji, he hesitated. Opening his mouth to change the subject to something else, Keiji interrupted him.

“Your birthday is coming up soon, isn’t it?” 

* * *

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what, _Akaashi-kun_?”

Tendou was sitting across from him at the table in their office’s breakroom, hands neatly folded in front of him as he met Keiji’s gaze. He had that obnoxious, knowing look on his face that irked Keiji to no end.

“You know exactly what face you’re making at me right now. Don’t be smug.” 

“Smug? I’m not smug. Not at all.” Tendou smiled, expression somehow becoming even more obnoxious. “It’s just, yaknow. I like being right. And I was totally right this time.”

“You’re not.”

“I am.”

“You really aren’t.”

“Yes, except I am.”

Keiji sighed, exasperated, putting his head in his hands, elbows resting on the table. As if it were some sort of concession, Tendou patted his shoulder in a gesture probably meant to be reassuring.

“I really don’t know why you’re doing this to yourself, Akaashi-kun. If it’s obvious to me, it’s obvious to you: you’re both dying for some sort of reconnection. So why didn’t you just indulge it? More than you already are, anyway.”

Despite the fact that Keiji had resolved weeks ago to stop telling Tendou about nearly every detail of his “love life”, he had immediately caved when asked about it while the two spent their lunch break together. The argument, the tea thing, the lack of real communication between he and Bokuto—all spilled to Tendou in under fifteen minutes. Maybe it was because he was just a good listener, or maybe it was because Keiji was just so desperate to have someone to _talk_ to, but Keiji hadn’t been able to resist. 

It was definitely a mistake, however. Because in addition to all of those things, Keiji had also made the fatal error of telling Tendou about _the birthday thing_, which seemed to completely enlighten the other about the intricacies of his current emotional situation. It made Keiji glad he never agreed to actually date Tendou—if playing mind games with someone as straightforward as Bokuto was taxing, he couldn’t even imagine how tiring it would be with Tendou.

So, Keiji had remembered Bokuto’s birthday. And personally he didn’t think it was strange, but the way Tendou gushed about how “adorable” that was made him feel like perhaps he should have. And of course, Bokuto’s reaction had been similar—he had on that stupid, goofy grin he got whenever he felt really flattered, and teased him about it playfully (right before confirming that he remembered when Keiji’s birthday was too). And then after that, he’d invited Keiji out to his birthday party, that was really just a small mixer with some of Bokuto’s friends from work. And despite being the one to bring the whole thing up, Keiji had immediately declined, and subsequently embarrassed himself by being unable to find an actual excuse as to why he couldn’t go. 

But Tendou knew. Tendou knew as soon as the words left his mouth, and Keiji could see it on his face. His analysis right afterwards was really just a formality:

“You’re totally still in love. The high-school-sweethearts sort of puppy love that never really goes away. You have all these memories with him, of your formative years when you were still figuring yourself out, but you fucked up your relationship with him. And when he was finally back in your life again, all the old shit was all you could think about, and you almost fucked it up again. And now you’re doing fine again, but you’re afraid if you actually have a serious conversation with him, if you cross any more imaginary relationship lines, it’s gonna be over, for good this time.

Sound about right, Akaashi-kun?”

And then there they were, Tendou still patting him on the shoulder awkwardly, spouting some sappy shit about how he should “follow his heart”. 

Keiji sighed loudly, abruptly pushing his chair back from the table. “I need a fucking smoke.”

“Language! And honestly, me too. You’re so dramatic, it’s kinda stressful.”

Frankly, Keiji agreed.

* * *

Koutarou was, surprisingly enough, enjoying himself quite a bit. But he wasn’t sure if that was due to the alcohol or his libido.

He hadn’t be planning on having any sort of party for himself, really. Although he loved the attention, the older he got, the less special birthdays made him feel. The number felt like a reminder of everything he had fucked up so far—how far behind he was relationship-wise, career-wise. But his co-workers didn’t have to know that, and it wasn’t as though he was going to pass on an excuse to go out drinking with friends. Friends being a pretty loose term—Koutarou knew their names, how they acted around each other—but asked anything of substance about them, he would probably be at a loss.

But at the moment, even the whole “knowing their names” thing was a bit up in the air. He had forgotten the name of the cute girl currently rubbing the inside of his thigh and giving him bedroom eyes the second after she had told him, and was now far too embarrassed (and horny) to ask again. He knew she was some friend of one of his co-workers, but that was about it. That and the fact that he found her super attractive.

The girl was just his type. Short, curly black hair and narrow eyes, slender and only _just_ shorter than him. Nice legs, too. Especially with the sly, knowing look she was giving him, Koutarou couldn’t help comparing her to Keiji a little bit, and felt a pang of guilt as she leaned in closer to him. 

“Wanna come back to mine?” Her tone of voice, at least, wasn’t anything like Keiji’s. A little bit too cheery, not that he minded.

Thankfully, the “party” had become dispersed enough to where Koutarou didn’t feel bad about excusing himself, especially since he wasn’t leaving alone. He followed the girl’s lead, trying to push the thoughts of Keiji out of his head. It wasn’t fair to her to compare her to Keiji. And it probably wasn’t healthy or fair to himself to be making those comparisons either. 

“Seriously, get over it man...” he grumbled softly to himself as they climbed the rickety steps to her apartment, the slight buzz making him not realize he was thinking aloud. The chill in the air had done little to sober him up. Turning, the girl gave him a puzzled look.

“Did you say something?”

“Ah, sorry. Just talkin’ to myself.”

At that, she smiled, warm and wide in a way that made Koutarou feel strangely safe. “Ha, I’ve been doing that all the time lately,” she turned to unlock the door, before turning back around to usher him inside. “Now come on in and let’s bang, it’s freakin’ cold out!”

Koutarou chuckled, and quickly ducked inside. She may have looked similar to Keiji, but her personality couldn’t be any different. Again, Koutarou kicked himself for even bringing up any sort of comparison.

For a bit, they just made out, occasionally groping each other through their clothes and pausing to flirt. It felt weird to Koutarou, to be intimate with someone after so long, and it must have shown on his face.

“Hey, you alright? We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” She looked sympathetic, and gently cupped his face in her hands. 

“Huh? No, I want to, sorry... It’s just been a while.” And it definitely wasn’t helping that he couldn’t stop thinking about Keiji, but he wasn’t about to bring that entire debacle into this.

“Wow, really?” 

“What, is that weird?”

“No, I’m just surprised!” She giggled, pulling him closer to her, unsubtly grinding up against him. “‘Cause yaknow, I think you’re pretty hot. Birthday boy~.” 

Yeah, she was definitely nothing like Keiji.

* * *

That realization only became more apparent as the night went on and when the next day came, and yet it only made Koutarou feel more guilty. Here he was, hooking up with a nice, cute girl after who knew how many months, and all he could think about was his ex. And not even a recent ex, at that.

Koutarou sighed, rolling onto his side to reach for his phone on the nightstand. He’d spent the night at the girl’s—_Aki-chan_ was what she liked to be called, he reminded himself—and was beginning to feel the start of a hangover. He hadn’t even been drunk, but he supposed age had something to do with it. He remembered his father telling him that hangovers only got worse with age, and the thought made him shudder. 

Aki wasn’t in the room and the sun was up, so Koutarou was a bit surprised he hadn’t been kicked out yet. Normally when he hooked up with girls he’d have left before they woke up—and normally when he hooked up with guys, he wouldn’t even bother spending the night. He had been going through a bit of change recently however. _And man, fuck it, it was my fuckin’ birthday. I deserve a break._

As if on cue, Aki appeared in the doorway, shyly peeking in as if she was afraid to disturb him. When she realized he was awake she just smiled, greeting him as she sauntered over to the bed. “Morning! Are you heading out soon?”

_Oh okay. _Now_ I’m being kicked out_, he thought bitterly, bracing himself to get up. “Do you want me to go?” he asked, measuring his tone carefully. He didn’t want to leave, she was at least being nice about it.

But apparently that hadn’t been her intention, because she seemed surprised by the suggestion. “Huh? No, I was just wondering ‘cause I made breakfast.” She smiled, the same slyness from the night before creeping into her gaze. “If you don’t want any, that’s fine.”

“Man, you think I’m crazy enough to turn down breakfast?” he laughed, and followed her out of the room.

* * *

They chatted amiably about nothing in particular as Aki fixed their plates. Aki’s apartment was small, even smaller than Koutarou’s, with only her bedroom and an adjoining kitchenette. As she flitted around the kitchen, Koutarou tried his best not to ogle her—she was only in her underwear, and with each movement seemed to be intentionally showing off. But Koutarou still felt too guilty for any sort of second round. With every bit of information about her that he obtained, he found himself comparing her to Keiji: “oh, just like Keiji”, “not like him at all”, “I guess I can see a similarity”. He didn’t want to admit to himself why this was the case, and let himself wallow in his guilt.

Aki was a very talkative person however, and didn’t let his wallowing last very long. She placed the rice and eggs down on the table and then plopped down across from him. She sighed, “Ahh man, ever since my roommate moved out I always cook too much rice... It’s nice to have someone to cook for, for a change!”

“Yeah, I get that. But you really had another person living in this little apartment? No offense.” Taking a big helping of rice, he spoke through his food. She didn’t seem to care.

“Okay well, I was technically the roommate that moved out. We both went our separate ways. Still though! I miss it.”

Koutarou just nodded. He really did understand, a little too well. After that exchange, a comfortable silence fell in between them, only filled by the sounds of chewing and the street outside. Briefly, Koutarou wondered if an apartment like this would be what his sister had had in mind—it was definitely within this price range. He didn’t know if it would be good or bad for him, frankly.

“Ummm...” Aki interrupted his thoughts again, and her foot pressed against his under the table. She had finished her food, and was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. “I’ve been kinda hesitating ‘cause I’ve been told I’m not great with this sort of thing... and don’t think I’m trying to bribe you with food or anything... But, like, I actually had a really good time last night, even before we came here. So I was wondering, if, uh...” She trailed off. Her face had gone almost completely red, and the confident attitude she’d embodied only minutes ago melted away. “If you wanna like, exchange lines or whatever, and maybe meet up again at some point. If you want, of course!”

Koutarou stared at her as he finished chewing his food, probably looking extremely stupid with shock. As he gulped the rest of his food down, he still wasn’t sure what to say. Two parts of his brain were in complete disagreement, with one half screaming “Yes! Yes! Say yes, asshole!”, and the other overwhelmed with guilt over how many times looking at her reminded him of Keiji. He quickly cleared his throat as the anticipation seemed to be killing the poor girl—she was biting her lip pensively, and had pulled her foot away from Koutarou, tucking her legs neatly under herself. 

“Um, I mean, yeah, we can exchange lines. And you’re really cute, and sweet, and I’d really like to, maybe go out sometime...”

She leaned forward minutely, but still looked nervous.

“And I enjoyed myself a lot, it’s just that—“

And with that, the floodgates broke loose. As he normally did when he had too many thoughts floating around his head, he spilled nearly everything he had been thinking about for the past day to whoever would listen—this time, to a complete stranger he had just fucked a few hours ago. He told her about how attractive he thought she was, and how he couldn’t stop comparing her to his ex. He told her about his circumstances with Keiji (while not revealing his gender—he was extremely careful with who he decided to come out to), and how bad he felt about comparing her to him, and how unfair he thought it was, and—

She cut him off abruptly, placing a hand over his on the table. “Hey, it’s okay, man! Relax.” Koutarou thought her tone was surprisingly kind for someone who had just been rejected in the dumbest way possible.

She looked off to the side a bit sheepishly as she continued. “I mean, I totally get it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t using this as a bit of a rebound. I just broke up with my boyfriend like, last month.”

“Oh.”

“Right? No hard feelings!”

And now Koutarou was the one feeling embarrassed.

They talked for a bit more afterwards, bonding over their relationship woes. Koutarou ended up spilling a lot more than he’d intended to, and by the time he was getting ready to leave, he felt that his entire body was beet red in embarrassment. He had practically spilled his entire heart out about how in love he was with Keiji still, and how bad that made him feel—to a complete stranger, no less. He just hoped she wouldn’t tell any of his co-workers, but judging by the calming smile she had (as well as some of the secrets she had told him about herself), that didn’t seem like it was going to be the case.

“Hey,” she caught his attention as he was pulling on his shoes. 

“Hmm?”

“I know you said you were scared to talk to her about your relationship, but I really think you should. You obviously care about her a lot. Women like that sort of thing—showing that you really do care.”

“Ah, y-yeah...” he agreed hastily, resisting the urge to correct her on who exactly “Akaashi” was. But despite everything he had already told her, he couldn’t bring himself to.

“But yaknow, if you never get around to it—“ she held up her phone meaningfully, once again smirking confidently, “Don’t be afraid to give me a call.”

Koutarou smiled back. “Got it.”

* * *

By the time Koutarou had made it back to the apartment building, he felt like shit. Although Aki’s apartment had been close to the train station, he’d accidentally spent two hours on the train after falling asleep before he made it to his stop. The entire time, his head pounded full-force, and the people around him on the train kept staring at him—he probably looked as shitty as he felt, and definitely stunk a bit too. 

_Thank the gods I don’t have work today..._ he thought to himself as he climbed the steps, even that becoming a Herculean task. And of course, as he reached his floor, who else did he run into but one Akaashi Keiji.

He must have been leaving for some sort of work function, because he was wearing an expensive-looking suit, his hair slicked back with gel. He didn’t seem too surprised to see Koutarou, and smirked as he greeted him in the hallway. 

“Oh, nice to catch you before I left. I see you had fun last night.”

When Koutarou fixed him with a puzzled look, Keiji gestured to his neck pointedly. Pulling out his phone and opening the camera, Koutarou cringed: taking up nearly the entire left side of his neck was a huge, dark hickey, blue and purple, and complete with the red imprint of a bite mark as well. Koutarou flushed, putting his head in his hands as he groaned loudly, “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Is that why people were staring at me on the train?! I thought I just smelled bad or something!”

Keiji laughed softly. “Well, you don’t smell great either.”

Koutarou grumbled, looking playfully angry at the other. “Don’t make fun of me. I still count today as my birthday, too.”

Keiji just laughed again, before continuing. “About that, though. I did get you a present—but to be honest, it’s more of a present for me than it is for you. I left it outside your door.”

“Aw, thanks, Keiji!” Koutarou resisted the urge to pull the other into a hug, instead patting him lightly on the shoulder awkwardly. Keiji tensed up a bit, seeming surprised at the contact. 

“It’s not a big deal. You’re welcome, though. Happy birthday.” With that, Keiji left, dress shoes tapping against the stone steps loudly as he descended.

_It is a big deal to me._ Koutarou thought to himself meekly, picking up the package in front of his door carefully. _It is to me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: minor ocs, bokuto being bi asf LMAO, drinking, smoking mention, m/f sex mention, buzzed sex mention
> 
> hmm... this chapter is very, very self-indulgent tbh lol. but oh well c: now the real plot can kick off. please leave a comment and/or kudos if you enjoyed, thank you for reading! <3


	6. ego brain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *drops this at your feet* here you go, sorry it took so long ily
> 
> cw at end cuz spoilers, kinda more serious this time around. hope you all are staying safe!

Koutarou had placed Keiji’s present on the counter, but was too nervous to actually open it. 

It wasn’t in a gift bag or wrapped up with wrapping paper, and Keiji hadn’t written him a card. It was just a plain, small cardboard box that was surprisingly heavy.

Judging by Keiji’s words and their current relationship, it wasn’t hard to guess what it was. The thought was oddly exciting to Koutarou, but he was still anxious—because what if it wasn’t what we thought it was? But then, what would it be? And that thought made him even more anxious. 

Koutarou ruffled his hair, leaving the kitchenette in a huff. If he couldn’t bring himself to open the package, he could at least bring himself to take a shower—he fucking stunk, after all. 

As he entered the bathroom, he finally saw the full extent of the hickeys plastered all over his neck, and felt a fresh wave of embarrassment. Not only had everyone on the train and on his walk home seen the mess of bites and bruises (which, he realized as he took his shirt off, trailed all the way down to his stomach), but Keiji had gotten an eyeful as well. It brought back a rush of memories he quickly stifled, before they could either excite him or make him feel even more pathetic about his situation. At this point, Koutarou could acknowledge he was still harboring some major feelings for Keiji, but to actually entertain those thoughts like he had when he was a teenager was a whole different animal.

A whole different animal with plenty of memories it could feed off of.

For the first time in forever, Koutarou took a cold shower. It was miserable.

* * *

Koutarou’s teeth were still chattering after he’d pulled on what appeared to be the only turtle-neck sweater he owned, which he’d spent the last ten minutes scouring his closet for after realizing he actually had to run errands that day. It was absurdly old, and though it was tight, he thought he looked pretty good in it. It hugged his arms nicely, as well as his chest—his beer belly was very apparent, but he thought it added to the charm. Regardless of the slight embarrassment and guilt the hook-up had incurred, his experience with Aki had boosted his self-confidence considerably.

_Thank fuck it’s getting cold out, too. I can actually get away with wearing this_, he thought as he checked himself out one last time, adjusting his hair with his fingertips. The past couple years, he felt every birthday made him look older. Worn-out. Worse. But today, he felt bright.

His nerves eased, Koutarou headed back down the hall and to the kitchenette, facing Keiji’s present like it was an adversary. Drawing a knife out of the drawer, he swiftly cut the tape keeping the package closed, and lifted the lid of the box gingerly. 

A loud banging at the door stopped him in his tracks. Body seizing up in surprise, Koutarou’s head shot towards the genkan. Someone was beating on the door heavily, yelling incoherently.

_What the fuck?! Why?!_ he thought, frustrated, stomping over to the doorway. As he approached, however, he quickly realized it wasn’t his door that was about to be knocked down, but Keiji’s. And as he opened the door to see what the commotion was all about, he recognized who was doing all the yelling.

In front of Keiji’s door was an older woman, short and somewhat spindly. She was wearing a bright red kimono, and the fiery anger Koutarou saw in her expression as she shouted at Keiji’s door was something he had undoubtedly seen in Keiji before. 

“Akaashi-san?”

The woman turned to look at him, mortified, freezing in place as her fists rested against Keiji’s door. She held his owlish stare for a moment, blankly, before her expression lit up with recognition.

“Oh my—Bokuto-kun!”

* * *

Against his better judgement, Koutarou had invited Keiji’s mother inside. As he nervously poured her a cup of tea, he asked in a strained voice, “So... Keiji really hasn’t spoken to you in—what did you say, three years?”.

Upon seeing the man who had been Keiji’s closest “friend” for nearly half a decade, Akaashi-san had immediately burst into tears, and soon after launched into her story. Apparently, Keiji had cut himself off from his parents without a word years ago, and hadn’t spoken to them since. Akaashi-san’s tear-stained face and sobs made Koutarou feel bad, but at the same time, he felt wary —the anger she had been beating at Keiji’s door with hadn’t been anguish, and he knew it. He needed to get the true story from her. After all, Keiji didn’t make decisions like that lightly. 

Akaashi-san accepted the cup of tea gracefully, taking a sip as she composed herself. She looked to the side wistfully as she responded softly, “Two or three... maybe four. I’m not even sure. Time is strange when you get older. All I know is how hard it’s been, not having him around.”

Koutarou felt a pang of sympathy for her, and his cheeks warmed a bit, “Ah, I understand. That sort of feeling, anyway.”

He held his own cup of tea close to his chest, feeling the heat of the mug. Despite the routine he had established with Keiji, he still didn’t like tea that much. He cleared his throat as he asked, “I’m assuming though if he hasn’t talked to you in that long, you didn’t know he moved to Kyoto?”

Akaashi-san’s expression became stern, and she shook her head. “I did not. I eventually had to call his work to obtain his address! The trouble this boy puts me through...” 

_Oh, Keiji’s _really_ not gonna like that_, Koutarou thought. Despite his mounting discomfort, he pressed on.

“Oh... so... is there a reason why he doesn’t talk to you?”

“The same reason so many children stop talking to their parents: they think they know better.”

_Uh oh. Oh no._ “O-oh?”

Akaashi-san straightened up in her seat, placing the mug down on the table firmly. She sighed.

“I will take some of the blame—I really wanted him to settle down and find a nice girl to marry. There’s no point in having a well-paying job if you aren’t going to start a family. And, well, as you can tell I’m a bit traditional, so I set up a few meetings with women I thought would be a good fit for an arranged marriage.

“He was agreeable at first, but after one of these meetings he completely snapped at me. Going on about how he was not interested in women, and that he was—“

Koutarou froze. _No. No, there’s no way Keiji..._

Akaashi-san tapped her chin thoughtfully, “Oh, what’s the word they use for it now? Homo? Gay? I don’t know. He said he was interested in men.... I told him of course that sort of behavior was unacceptable, so he left and hasn’t spoken to me since. Gone for three years, all over that, can you imagine?”

The weight of her words sunk into Koutarou like a knife. The way she had said it was so matter-of-fact, and the idea that she thought he agreed with her made him want to gag. He looked down into his cup, his tone forced, “Keiji is a stubborn person after all, ha.”

Akaashi-san sighed again, shrugging as she took a long sip from her mug.

“That’s something he got from his father. It’s a shame, really. I know he was only trying to avoid marriage—but it’s not something he can avoid forever.”

“... So you think Keiji’s just trying to avoid getting married?” The suggestion made Koutarou feel even more sick, and his skin prickled uncomfortably.

“I know so! I was young once, too. It’s nice to not have to settle down, or worry about raising a family. But he’s the Akaashi family’s only son.”

Koutarou understood her implication, and felt an icy pain shoot through his chest. Her words were similar to things he had feared that he would one day hear from his own parents, and they hurt. And the fact that Keiji also had to face this, likely to a much greater, more vitriolic degree, made Koutarou’s heart hurt. He bit his lip anxiously, and decided not to take her words lying down.

_I’m not going to let you talk about him like this, Akaashi-san._

“To be honest, Akaashi-san, I don’t think Keiji would say something like that to get out of marrying someone. He would just say he doesn’t want to get married, I think.”

She was quiet for a moment, and Koutarou was afraid to meet her gaze. When he finally gathered the courage to look up from his cup, she was staring at him, eyes stretched open wide with an emotion he couldn’t decipher. The same icy pain from before shot down Koutarou’s spine.

“Do you think he really is _like that_, then? You haven’t seen anything have you, Bokuto-kun? You’re neighbors, after all.”

“A-ah, no, nothing like that! I just think, it would make sense if he wasn’t lying, because I know cutting ties with you wouldn’t be a decision he would make easily! You know?!” He could feel the anger slipping into his voice as he defended Keiji, and balled his hands into fists to restrain himself. He hated what he was hearing, the slight disgust and ignorance in nearly every word she spoke, and it reminded him exactly why he didn’t talk about his sexuality with other people. To a certain extent, he didn’t have to talk about it—he could only date women, and pretend he was straight, and not have to address any of the bigotry slung his way by society. Even when it hurt like this.

And he felt terrible that Keiji didn’t even have that luxury. 

“Hmm... Well if he was being truthful, I hope this is just a phase. Life is hard for people like that.”

“Yeah, it is.” _No thanks to people like you._

It was silent in the apartment after Koutarou’s response. Akaashi-san had a vaguely somber expression on her face as she gazed down into her cup. Her lips parted minutely as it appeared she was about to say something else. For a moment, Koutarou hoped she would redeem herself, that she would say something that would remind him of the Akaashi-san he had known when he was still in high school.

No such luck.

“And besides, I would really like some grandchildren. It gets so lonely at home...”

At that, Koutarou abruptly pulled his chair back from the table, the chair legs screeching against the floor loudly. This woman needed to get out of his apartment, now. Dawning the fakest smile he’d ever worn before, he pushed his chair back in, allowing it to screech against the floor again.

“I’m sorry to interrupt our chat, Akaashi-san, but I just remembered I actually have some urgent business I need to take care of, right now. Here, give me your mug. I’ll walk you out.”

* * *

_Unacceptable. Just a phase. People like that._

They were just short phrases, and betrayed Akaashi-san’s ignorance more than they did actual malice. After giving himself some time to cool down, Koutarou couldn’t bring himself to hate her, but he also couldn’t blame Keiji for cutting ties with her. The way she had spoken about the subject had been difficult to listen to, and her story had been too vague for it to be the full truth. And if what Akaashi-san had said to Koutarou in those short ten minutes had hurt him the way it had, he couldn’t imagine how Keiji felt.

Koutarou also knew that Keiji probably missed her, too. That realization hurt even more, and made him think about his own parents. For once, he actually indulged the memories, before quietly tucking them away again.

Running errands had been easy, and thankfully, none of his jobs had called him into work. _Yet_, he thought bitterly as he shuffled back into the apartment, toeing off his shoes lazily. Part of him wanted to check his phone to make sure, but a larger part of him was fine if he “missed” any important phone calls.

As he placed his groceries on the counter, he peered over to Keiji’s present, still unopened. After Akaashi-san had left, he’d immediately gone out as well, and in his anger forgotten it entirely. His excitement had faded considerably, but he still smiled wryly as he lifted the lid of the box gently. 

As expected, it was a tea set. It was ceramic, and painted with a gradient that transitioned from black at the top, to a dark gold at the bottom. Unlike most sets Koutarou had seen before, there was only the teapot and two cups, rather than the standard four or six. That little detail alone made the present feel intimate, and he smiled to himself excitedly as he pulled the set fully out of the box. 

He briefly turned the cups over in his hands, noting the small white blossoms painted on their sides. Examining the teapot, Koutarou almost dropped it over what he saw.

Dark tree branches with the same white blossoms from the cups were painted along the teapot’s bottom. Behind the tree was a large, white crescent moon, which framed the main subject of the graphic—a large, silver horned owl, looking off into the distance. Maybe from someone else, the present would have been a joke, like “Oh, Bokuto looks like an owl!” or “Wow, Bokuto really likes owls!”, but from Keiji it felt different. This was something he could tell the other put thought into, considering it’s elegance, along with how expensive it had probably been: it appeared everything had been hand-crafted.

Koutarou’s cheeks heated up, and unthinkingly he whispered, “Oh, Keiji, I freakin’ love you.” 

He froze, and placed the teapot down onto the table with a bit too much force before burying his face in his hands. He felt embarrassed, not just for saying that out loud, but for feeling it as well. And at this point, he wasn’t even sure why.

* * *

Koutarou awoke to a magazine being slapped against his forehead.

He was on the couch, neck bent over the armrest at an uncomfortable angle. At the slap he started, jumping up into a sitting position and looking around wildly. Keiji stood to the side of the couch, looking thoroughly unimpressed, arms crossed. He was still wearing the same fancy suit from earlier that day. _He must have just gotten back from work_.

“Oh, well let yourself right in!” Koutarou narrowed his eyes, but there wasn’t any real animosity in his expression. Just playful annoyance. “What was that for?!”

“I knocked, and you didn’t answer. The door was unlocked, so I checked to see if you were here. I keep getting your weird magazine subscriptions in the mail,” he gestured to the magazine he’d just hit Koutarou with. “Normally I just put them in your mailbox, but I’m actually getting a little tired of it.”

“Jeez, Keiji, tampering with my mail and breaking and entering? When did you get so bad?” Koutarou teased, taking the magazine from him. It was a shogi magazine—he still had a bunch of these sorts of subscriptions that he usually just sent along to his mother.

“They’re technically addressed to me, so it’s not tampering. Also, this is trespassing, not breaking and entering,” Keiji pointed out, deadpan, loosening his tie as he got comfortable. Koutarou tried not to think about how sexy the gesture was, or how touched he was at the fact that Keiji had no trouble feeling at home in his apartment anymore. 

_I’m probably about to make him super uncomfortable though. But I have to tell him_, Koutarou thought to himself. He took a deep breath and sat up straight. Keiji looked at him curiously.

“I’ll make us a pot of the new tea my mom sent in a second. I kinda, um, have something to tell you first, though.”

“Oh?”

Keiji’s eyes had gone wide, and his mouth was drawn into a small line. Koutarou wondered for a moment what Keiji thought he was about to tell him—he could almost hear the gears turning in the other’s head. Despite how quickly Keiji made deductions, Koutarou had always been able to pick up on his thought process to a certain degree.

“Your mom was here. Earlier.”

Keiji’s body immediately went stiff. His face was dark.

“What do you mean, she was here?”

“She said she found your address through your work. She was banging on your door, and when I went to go see what the problem was, she recognized me,” Koutarou said in a rush, a sinking feeling settling over him as Keiji’s expression twisted into disgust. He thought the other was mad at him, and felt his heart clench, “I-I invited her inside, ‘cause I didn’t want to be rude, I’m sorry, Keiji.”

Keiji pinched the bridge of his nose, before burying his head in his hands, sighing loudly. 

Koutarou repeated himself, “I’m sorry.” He felt like he was going to cry.

Keiji pulled his hands back, not looking at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. “Why are you apologizing? I’m not mad at you. I just—fuck. I need a smoke.” He turned, and Koutarou realized he was going to leave.

“You can take it here. Don’t leave,” Koutarou said softly, and resisted the urge to reach out and grab at Keiji’s shirt. He hoped his puppy-dog eyes would be enough to convince the other to stay.

Keiji paused, looking unsure. “You don’t mind? I thought it bothered you.”

“It’s okay this time, Keiji.”

* * *

Keiji’s hands shook with anger as he lit his cigarette, and he felt pathetic over it. Normally, he had a better grip on his emotions, but the bombshell Koutarou had dropped on him had left him unable to fully keep them under control. He took a deep drag from his cigarette, the unmeasured force of it causing him to cough roughly as he exhaled. His throat burned.

Koutarou’s balcony was just as small as Keiji’s, and only furnished with a cheap, plastic lawn chair. Keiji was huddled in the corner furthest away from the sliding glass door—he didn’t want Koutarou staring at him, especially if he lost control over himself even further. He couldn’t believe the audacity of his mother, to have breached his privacy yet again. Her inability to leave him the fuck alone had been what had driven him to move to Kyoto in the first place, and it had all been for naught now that she had his new address. And even just thinking about her brought back the terrible memories of his coming out and the arguments that followed. Keiji felt like he was going to puke, or cry, or scream—instead, he forced himself to take another drag of his cigarette, like he was trying to control his breathing.

The sliding glass door rattled open, and Keiji turned to look at Koutarou, surprised. The other wordlessly leaned up against the railing next to him, expression serious. Koutarou kept his eyes fixed on the dull view of the city rather than Keiji as he said softly, “She told me what happened between you and them, basically.”

“‘Basically’? What did she tell you?”

“What I got from it is that you came out, they gave you shit for it, and you just decided ‘no, fuck this’, and stopped talking to them.” Despite the somber mood, Keiji chuckled dryly at Koutarou’s bluntness. As Keiji took another drag, Koutarou asked, “Is that really it? I figured there was probably more to it.”

Keiji shrugged, “That’s essentially what happened.”

“Was it... was it bad?”

“It wasn’t great. But it wasn’t terrible. I just knew I wasn’t going to be able to put up with their bigotry for long, so I nipped the issue in the bud.” Another long drag. He exhaled facing away from Koutarou, so the smoke wouldn’t blow in his face.

“You didn’t try to talk about it instead?”

“I talked about it as much as I could. There’s only so much you can explain before they stop listening.” As more details from the conversations he had had with his parents surfaced to the forefront of his mind, Keiji reined his tone in further, words coming out quiet and clipped. He couldn’t bring himself to be mad at Koutarou (not when his expression was so full of concern, or when is voice was so full of gentle sympathy), but the storm of emotions he felt in regards to his parents was quickly building, and Koutarou’s prodding wasn’t helping.

His eyes burned a bit as small tears welled up, and he turned his face away from Koutarou again.

“She... she is still your mom, Keiji. I honestly get being upset with her, ‘cause a lot of the stuff she said was just _wrong_... But maybe you could at least talk to her about it more? And make her understand.”

Emotion crept into Keiji’s tone as he responded, “You’re right, she is my mother. And I’m her son. I’m her only son—her only _child_. She’s supposed to, she’s the one who’s supposed to have my—“

The dam broke, and the tears started to flow down his face freely. He missed her, he missed his father, he missed home. And the rejection and loneliness he’d felt as a result of being open with them had burned a hole in his chest.

“Fuck... fuck. Do you realize how hard it was for me to just cut them off? People that had been with me and supported me my entire life, to just have them completely gone out of my life? Fuck.

It feels like a part of me is gone. It’s so hard. I can’t even explain it.” 

The words felt so pathetic as they spilled out of his mouth like bile, their weight poisoning the air around the two of them. His voice cracked weakly as he spoke, and now that the tears were freely flowing, the lights of the city were blurred even more than usual.

If he’d been around anyone else, it might have felt uncomfortable. Though he’d cried plenty in front of others before, he wasn’t a crier—in fact, the majority of people he knew seemed to think he didn’t express much emotion at all. But Koutarou had seen the full spectrum of his emotions, had seen him cry an honestly embarrassing amount, and seemed to remember how to handle it just fine.

He closed the gap between the two of them, swinging an arm around Keiji’s shoulder to pull them closer together. He looked at Keiji knowingly, and when he spoke Keiji felt the other’s warm breath on his cheek. “I get it, Keiji. I’m sorry, forget what I said. This is fucked up.”

As he continued, he looked back out at the city. “I get how you’re feeling. You won’t feel like that forever. You know that, right?” 

Keiji briefly wondered what Koutarou was referring to, and if he was thinking about their breakup. Pushing the thought away, he nodded and murmured softly, “Yeah. I know.”

He wiped his face off with his free hand, the tears having already gone cold in the chilly autumn air. By now, his cigarette had burned away nearly to the filter, so he extinguished it against the railing. He tossed the butt over the side, and jumped when Koutarou suddenly reached over him to grab it before it could fall into the alleyway below.

“Hey! No littering!” Koutarou chided, and the intimate spell that had been cast over the two broke. Koutarou shuffled away from him, and crouched in front of the plastic lawn chair, feeling under it for something. After a moment, he pulled out what looked to be an ash tray, and dropped the butt inside. 

_What?_“I thought you didn’t smoke.” 

Koutarou looked confused. “Huh? I don’t. Oh, sorry, I probably should’ve given this to you while you were still actually smoking it...”

“If you don’t smoke, why do you have an ash tray?” 

“Oh... uh. It was my roommate’s. They, uh, left it here when they moved out.”

_Roommate, huh. Interesting._

* * *

Keiji had excused himself to the bathroom to collect himself. He felt that there was something Koutarou wasn’t telling him, and the stack of textbooks he’d found sitting on the toilet when he entered was yet another shred of evidence. 

They appeared to be college-level textbooks, and covered a myriad of subjects. _Japanese Literature, English, Biology, Chemistry, Calculus_..., Keiji read off to himself, running his finger along the books’ spines. The majority of them looked new, and each had a number of multi-colored sticky-notes protruding from the pages. The only book without these place markers was the Calculus textbook at the top of the pile—it looked significantly worse for wear than the other books, and on the inside cover, the words “I FUCKING HATE CALCULUS!” were scrawled in Koutarou’s handwriting.

Despite his previous mood, Keiji chuckled. He remembered Koutarou’s hatred of calculus pretty clearly. In university, they’d both taken the class during the same semester; Koutarou had taken a gap year, so they’d shared a large amount of courses in the two and a half years Koutarou had still been in school. 

The details that came with this memory, however, made Keiji’s face fall. Guilt and regret gnawed at his ankles. That calculus class had contributed to the tipping point in their relationship: it was the point where Keiji stopped trying to help Koutarou, and consequently the point where the bad arguments really started. _I’m sorry I couldn’t help you back then, Kou_, he thought to himself, flipping the cover of the textbook closed. 

When Keiji returned to the small living area, Koutarou was on the couch, knees tucked up to his chest. He was watching TV, but judging from his blank expression, he was completely spaced out. Keiji didn’t want to bring up the emotional meltdown he’d just had less than fifteen minutes ago, so he decided to talk about the textbooks instead.

“So,” he began. “Calculus, huh?”

Koutarou jumped, snapping back to reality as he turned to look at the other. He laughed sheepishly, ruffling his hair. Keiji recognized it as one of Koutarou’s new nervous tics. “Oh yeah. I put the textbooks there when I’m not studying… Out of sight, out of mind, yaknow? Plus I have, like, no storage space in this apartment, haha.”

_Ah._ The bigger picture was slowly coming into focus. “You’re going back to school?”

Koutarou looked off to the side, and Keiji could hear the other’s nails scraping into his scalp anxiously. “Uh, yeah. Planning to anyway. I didn’t really mention it to you, ‘cause… I don’t know, guess I thought you’d think it was kinda silly.”

“Why would... “ Keiji started, trailing off as he recalled his first few interactions with Koutarou after their reunion months prior. Guilt dropped like a rock into the pit of his stomach. He swallowed roughly. “I’m sorry I made you think that. I actually think it’s great you’re going back. Are you going to finish your degree?”

“Oh, well, actually…” Koutarou’s face lit up excitedly as he explained his plans to Keiji: instead of a business degree, he would be pursuing a career in physical therapy (Keiji assumed he had gotten the idea from his time in physical therapy after retiring from volleyball), and attempting to qualify for a program specifically aimed at former students with prior university credit. “A girl from work--Yachi-san-- is helping me study for the entrance exams! Apparently they’re a whole lot harder than when we were in school, plus the score I need is higher since it’s kinda a competitive program…”

Koutarou continued to ramble, and Keiji breathed a small sigh of relief. He felt reassured by the other’s enthusiasm, and comforted by Koutarou’s willingness to talk about something that easily could have turned into a sore subject. As Koutarou trailed off, Keiji realized he was staring.

“Uh, Keiji? You good?”

Keiji cleared his throat, moving to sit on the arm of the couch. “Yes, I’m good. Sorry, you were saying?”

Koutarou blinked a couple times, then shrugged as he continued, “I was just bitching about calculus. Yachi-san’s really no good at it either, so I’ve kinda been teaching myself. Like, they’ve got videos online and stuff but brain no work good.” He tapped the side of his head, as if emphasizing his point.

Keiji nodded, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again. He wanted to offer to help, to somehow rectify or redeem himself for giving up on the other in the past. So he hesitated.

But of course, Koutarou had noticed, and leaned forward where he sat on the couch to give him a puzzled look. “What?”

Keiji swallowed again, picking at his nails. He bit the bullet. “I could help, if you really need it.”

The other’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, really?”

Not trusting his voice, Keiji nodded. Koutarou’s expression remained unchanged, and Keiji watched as he actually processed the information. When his face lit up with his characteristically goofy grin, Keiji had to bite back a laugh. “Aw, thanks, Keiji! I’ll take you up on that! Or at least, if Yachi-san really can’t do it next time we have a tutoring session.”

Again, Keiji nodded, tension bleeding out of him with a deep sigh. Suddenly, the events of the past hour caught up to him, and a great exhaustion settled over his body. After a long, comfortable silence, Keiji spoke softly, “So, Koutarou, about that tea…”

* * *

The rest of the night had passed quickly. The pair completed their near daily ritual, and Koutarou had thanked Keiji nearly a hundred times for his present. Additionally, they’d swapped numbers and Lines, with Koutarou insisting that it would “Make both of our lives much easier! Now I know what tea to prep before you even get here!” A silly excuse, but Keiji was too smitten to dispute it.

The next morning during Keiji’s morning commute, as the train pulled out of the station, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Keiji pulled it out slightly, and clicked on the screen to see the notification.

> **Koutarou:** _thx again for the present again keiji i love it!!! also pick an emoji u want me to put in for ur contact (ovo)_

_How old are you again?_ Keiji typed back with one hand, smiling to himself.

> **Koutarou:** _okay fine, clown emoji it is for you then. ur so mean :’(_

_So I’ve been told._ He responded, and slipped his phone back into his pocket. He felt his cheeks heat up as he realized he’d been smiling at his phone like some lovesick teenager. 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: homophobia, abuse
> 
> bokuto has a bit of a dad bod cuz it's my fic and i do what i want lol. this chapter was a bit tough to write bc the world is ending and feelings but i hope you enjoyed. please leave a kudos/comment if you can, i appreciate everything sm you have no idea c: thank you all for reading!


	7. luv (sic)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is... almost to the half-way point. hopefully now that i have a functioning computer i'll be able to post more frequently.
> 
> also... i'm such a haikyuu boomer. reading the new chapters for bokuaka content and i'm just like "... who r u people" lol. also rip haikyuu, there closes another chapter of my life. all chapters of my life are marked by animanga. cringe but i'm embracing it

Keiji had figured out his sexuality before he had even entered high school.

Keiji saw himself as plain, but his perceived athleticism and cool personality had always inadvertently drawn girls to him. Although he wasn’t absolutely showered with female attention like some were, he always racked up quite the bounty of chocolates every year on Valentine’s day, and received more confessions and date requests than the majority of his middle school friends ever had. Not for a lack of trying, none of these girls ever sparked interest or a sense of attraction in him, and by his second year of middle school, he had given up on girls altogether.

But despite that, he still had the libido of a teenager. He denied the real source of his attractions for about a year—denied that he always let his eyes linger a little too long on his teammates when they were changing for volleyball practice, denied that he felt an embarrassing rush of _something_ when he accidentally bumped up too close to his friends when they all hung out alone.

If they knew, he could only imagine how creepy they would think he was, and the guilt ate at him until his third year, when his parents gifted him his first smartphone. After that point, internet access was no longer limited to the school computers or the desktop PC in his father’s office. This meant that after only a few days of confused googling and internet exploration, Keiji had himself figured out pretty well.

Not that he had ever planned to tell anyone, or do much about it. Although he accepted his sexual interests easily, entertaining these interests outside of his bedroom seemed completely out of the question. He knew his classmates would ostracize him, and that his parents would disapprove, so he kept it tucked away. Even when he developed crushes on other boys, he didn’t address the thoughts outright. They remained vague, tangled feelings that oozed with shame and denial.

Keiji developed one such crush on Bokuto when he first laid eyes on him. It was probably impossible _not to_: he was a powerful volleyball player with an impressive physique for a teenager, and had the type of personality that made everyone on the court and in the stands want to cheer for him. Even from off the court, Keiji could see his smile, his intense yet lighthearted attitude, and it completely pulled him in. As a volleyball player, Keiji admired him, and as a fledgling gay... well, needless to say, his subconscious had quickly handled the rest.

Normally, the crushes Keiji developed faded with time, assisted by his unwillingness to consciously address them and the indistinct feelings of guilt they sparked in him. As with most things in his life that involved Bokuto, however, this was not the case. Throughout his entire first year of high school, his attraction to the other felt like a perpetual headache: ever present, difficult to ignore, and worsening by the second. He tried to shake it off desperately, going so far as to shape his dynamic with Bokuto around teasing, and acting like he was above the other’s antics. But this was ultimately just flirting that accelerated his problem—by Keiji’s second year, he had grimly accepted his feelings.

Not that he had any idea what to do with them.

At the time, he poured his feelings into the only thing he could: volleyball. As a second year, he was Fukurodani’s starting setter, meaning he spent even more time playing with Bokuto than he had the year prior. After only a few weeks of consistently playing together, Keiji and Bokuto had become quite the formidable pair.

Their relationship grew off the court as well, much to Keiji’s secret excitement. Bokuto insisted on spending time with him, often eating lunch with him, walking him home after practice, and inviting him out with the other third-years on their off-days. Keiji gladly indulged in his feelings by spending time with the other, though the pain of his unrequited crush and the shame of liking another boy kept him from really enjoying it. Soon, however, Keiji realized Bokuto was experiencing something similar.

It happened after winter break, at a weekend training camp for the players that had made the cut onto Fukurodani’s spring tournament roster. As per usual, Bokuto had kept Keiji in the gym long after the day’s practice had ended, setting, serving, and discussing plays until neither could continue.

They had both showered, and were resting in the camp’s communal bath. They were the only two up that late. Being alone with their crush buck-naked would probably have made a normal person elated, but all Keiji could feel was nervous.

Bokuto also seemed to be anxious. He was across from Keiji, practically curled up in a ball, eyes scrunched closed. He was unusually quiet, but his occasional fidgeting let Keiji know he hadn’t fallen asleep. He looked deep in thought—not a good thing for Bokuto. After a long silence, Keiji moved to say something, but Bokuto spoke first.

“So, like, Keiji... This might be a really weird question, but do you think it’s normal to like. Think of guys and girls in the same way?”

“That _is_ a weird question, Bokuto-san,” Keiji spoke candidly, as at the time, he had had no idea what the other was talking about. It sounded like he was referring to social issues, but Keiji sincerely doubted the other possessed that type of awareness.

Bokuto opened his eyes, propping his head up on crossed arms. He avoided Keiji’s gaze as he tried to explain, “Um... shit, I don’t know. Okay, so you know how you can tell if a girl is hot or not? Do you think it’s weird if you’re like... Able to tell if a _guy_ is hot or not?”

Keiji’s heartbeat picked up—despite the other’s cautious wording, he understood the sentiment. He responded carefully, “Well, I think everyone can tell whether or not someone could be considered conventionally attractive. But ‘knowing’ if someone is attractive is different than being attracted to someone, no? I’m assuming that’s what you’re referring to.”

The other’s eyes went wide. He was silent for a moment, before murmuring, “So it’s not that normal?”

“Not for me,” Keiji answered with a shrug, quickly continuing as Bokuto’s expression became fearful, “I’ve never really been attracted to girls.”

The other’s expression didn’t change, and Keiji felt a sharp pain in his chest. _Don’t hate me, don’t hate me, don’t hate me_, he begged, nails digging sharply into his palms as he waited for the other to respond. His own thought processes halted—normally, he could assess a situation like this rationally, but his nerves had gotten the better of him.

Eventually, Bokuto’s expression settled into something similar to surprise. And confusion. Mostly confusion. “Wait, what?” When Keiji didn’t respond, he cocked his head to the side like a dog, “Guys, though...?”

Not trusting his voice, Keiji nodded.

“Oh...” Bokuto fell into silence again, and Keiji picked at his nails nervously. He wanted to ask the other so many questions now, and didn’t know where to start. Before he could decide on what to say, Bokuto was speaking. “Man, that’s tough. Most of the guys at Fukurodani are kinda fuckin’ ugly.”

Surprised, Keiji choked out a laugh.

“What, am I wrong?”

Still laughing, Keiji shook his head. Save for Bokuto (of course), Keiji agreed wholeheartedly. As his laughter tapered off, Bokuto leaned toward him, gaze curious and mouth crooked into a smirk.

“Okay, okay, but do you think I’m hot, though?”

Keiji used the relaxed atmosphere to crack a joke (that also concealed Keiji’s true thoughts on the matter), “I don’t think you want me to answer that, Bokuto-san.”

“Hey! Agaaashiii!”

They continued on like that for a few more minutes, until silence swallowed the pair up once more. Although his trust in Bokuto had deepened, Keiji still felt vulnerable. And if his expression was anything to go by, Bokuto felt the same way.

Keiji spoke much softer to Bokuto than he’d ever had before, “Hey. This is just between us, okay?”

The other nodded gently, “Yeah, don’t worry. You’re the only one I really trusted to talk about this with, anyway.”

And that was the moment Keiji really fell in love.

* * *

But at the moment, Keiji was questioning his past self’s sanity: Koutarou was currently driving him insane.

Since obtaining Keiji’s number, Koutarou had essentially nuked his phone with notifications. In addition to texting him constantly, he’d added him to a number of group chats with people they’d known from high school and university. And while catching up with friends he hadn’t spoken to in years was nice, the transition from receiving the occasional email about bills or work to the complete deluge of messages, Line stickers, and memes made his anxiety flare up terribly. Even after turning his phone’s vibration off, just seeing the messages on his home screen had him jiggling his leg anxiously and picking at his nails the entire day. He wondered what people thought of him now, after he’d been completely off the radar for nearly four years.

“Keiji-kuuuuun, please stop. You’re giving my anxiety anxiety,” Tendou grumbled, placing his hand over Keiji’s to stop him from tapping his fingers against the table. They were currently on lunch break, and Keiji had been completely spaced out, thinking about Koutarou.

“Sorry,” he said, tone flat and fairly unapologetic.

Tendou propped his head up on his hands, elbows resting on the table, “Aww, so grumpy today. You look like you’re regretting something—what happened, Keiji-kun?”

As per usual, Keiji was put off by the other’s perceptiveness, and annoyed by what the smug expression on his face implied. He answered gruffly, “It’s technically neighbor related, but it’s not what you’re thinking.”

Tendou smiled knowingly, and waved his hand in a gesture signaling Keiji to continue.

Keiji sighed. “I gave him my number, and he’s been texting me non-stop. And he also added me to a shit-ton of group chats with people from high school and stuff. And it just... ugh.”

Tendou smirked, before shrugging and nodding sympathetically, “Okay, well, I won’t tease you about the obvious—you look like you’re about to bite my head off. But I totally get feeling ‘ugh’ about talking to people from high school, haha. Was high school as ‘yikes’ for you as it was for me?”

“I don’t even know if that’s how I’d describe it. Parts of it were good, like volleyball.” _And Koutarou_.

Tendou’s eyes went comically wide, “Oh yeah! I totally forgot you played, too! Fukurodani, right?”

Keiji’s brain stopped working. His expression twisted into confusion, “‘Too’? You played? Wait... you know what team I played for?”

“I was at Shiratorizawa,” Tendou said, smirking proudly. “I had to do research on your team for nationals one year, so of course I remember you~!”

“Totally not creeped out at all,” Keiji teased, tone completely deadpan.

“Hey! It’s not like I’m stalking you, I just recognized your name from then when we started working together!” He stuck out his tongue childishly. “You weren’t even a starter in your first year!”

“Again. Not creeped out in the slightest.”

“Keiji-kuuuuuun, nooooo,” Tendou whined, and Keiji, strangely, felt a little better. Perhaps distractions were better than introspection.

* * *

Koutarou had finally redeemed Keiji’s offer to help him with calculus, via a text Keiji received on the way home from work.

> **Koutarou:** keijiiiiiiii
> 
> **Koutarou:** keiji keiji keiji
> 
> **Koutarou:** AKAAAAAASHIIIIIIII

_  
**Yes, O Needy One?**, Keiji replied, feeling a slight twinge of annoyance (as well as a twinge of something else, which he refused to acknowledge)._

> **Koutarou:** hey nooo i’m not needy >:(
> 
> **Koutarou:** okay well actually this time i do need somethin >_>
> 
> **Koutarou:** yachi’s trying to help w the math section but we’re both confused
> 
> **Koutarou:** [Sent an Attachment]

Keiji stifled a laugh as he looked at the photo. Koutarou’s face was twisted up comically for the camera in an exaggerated expression of frustration; meanwhile, the girl in the background (who Keiji presumed to be Yachi) was staring down at the papers on Koutarou’s kitchen table with an expression of earnest confusion.

> **Koutarou:** halp :<

_  
**Now?******  
_ ** **  
**** ** **

> **Koutarou:** no next week
> 
> **Koutarou:** yes now!!! pls
> 
> **Koutarou:** come on over ;)))

** ** **Despite knowing that that was a joke, Keiji couldn’t help the heat that spread across his cheeks.** ** **

> **Koutarou:** and pick us all up some dinner too lol, i’ll pay u back

** ** _ **...** _ **  
**

** **_**Fine. What does Yachi-san like?**_****

> Koutarou: :D yay!!!

And that was how Keiji got where he currently was—trudging up the stairs to his floor, coat in one hand and convenience store food in the other. Reaching the top of the steps, he knocked on Koutarou’s door the same way he had been for the last few months, like it was normal. He heard the two’s muffled voices inside the apartment; Yachi-san answered the door.

“Ah! You must be Akaashi-san. Nice to meet you,” she said politely, smiling as she waved him inside. Keiji suddenly felt grateful that Koutarou didn’t currently have a roommate—he didn’t think he could’ve reconnected with the other the way he had if there was someone in the way like this. _Ah. That’s a little mean_, he observed.

“And you must be Yachi-san. It’s nice to meet you too. Glad to know I’m not the only one helping out this piece of work.”

Yachi laughed, tucking a loose lock of hair behind her ear as she followed him back to Koutarou’s small kitchen. She looked familiar, but Keiji couldn’t quite place her in his memory. He felt as though he had seen her recently, but also couldn’t shake the feeling he’d known her in either college or high school.

“Yo! Keiji!” Koutarou greeted as Keiji entered the kitchenette. He was seated at the kitchen table in the plastic lawn chair which was usually on the porch; the two real kitchen chairs were reserved for Yachi and Keiji, apparently. The papers Keiji had seen strewn about the table in the selfie the other had sent were stacked haphazardly in the corner of the table, on top of a pile of textbooks and practice booklets. “Let’s eat first,” Koutarou said, patting the table as he eyed the food excitedly.

For some reason, Keiji couldn’t stop himself from smiling. This was nice.

* * *

Koutarou was a bit blown away by how helpful Keiji was, especially in comparison to how he’d been in college. Keiji still retained the same dynamic he’d always had with Koutarou, of course, but the teasing didn’t seem to carry the same bite that it used to. And whereas college Keiji had been difficult to understand and short-tempered, the current Keiji was methodical yet clear in his explanations, with a seemingly infinite amount of patience.

It was hard for Koutarou to accept that both Keiji’s were the same person. It made him realize how much both of them had changed—Koutarou was more willing to accept Keiji’s help, and Keiji had become much more understanding in his approach.

As the impromptu study session continued, Koutarou noticed Yachi had become less and less involved. Thankfully, she and Keiji had seemed to hit it off just fine (if their lighthearted ribbing of Koutarou was anything to go by), so that wasn’t the issue... She didn’t seem uncomfortable or even bored; she was just watching him and Keiji talk, looking lost in thought.

Keiji trailed off one of his explanations as he realized Koutarou was no longer paying attention. “Hey, you good, Yacchan?” Koutarou asked, cocking his head to the side in concern.

Yachi flinched. “Oh! Yeah I’m good, it’s just...” She trailed off, and looked over to Keiji. She tapped her finger against her chin thoughtfully. “Akaashi-san, I feel like I know you from somewhere... I just can’t figure it out.”

Koutarou almost interjected, wanting to remind Yachi that Keiji and his work friends frequented the restaurant they both worked at—but Keiji spoke first.

“I’m getting that feeling as well. High school, maybe?”

A look of recognition dawned on Yachi’s face. “Oh yeah, that’s it! You played on Fukurodani too! Ah, that’s why seeing you and Bokuto-kun together feels so familiar!”

_Huh?_ Before he could think it through, Koutarou blurted out, “‘Too’? Yacchan, how’d you know I played for Fukurodani?”

“Huh?” Both Yachi and Keiji echoed his own thoughts perfectly. Yachi’s eyebrows rose comically, and she stood up, slamming her hands on the table dramatically. “Wait, you seriously don’t remember me?!”

Koutarou scrambled through his high school memories—he vaguely remembered a small blonde from Karasuno in his third year... A wave of embarrassment suddenly washed over him.

“You’re _that_ Yachi-san?!”

Yachi responded, incredulous, while also obviously trying to hold back laughter, “How many Yachi’s do you know?! And seriously, you didn’t put two and two together regarding me, Tadashi and Tsukki?!” Yachi was failing to keep a straight face, and Keiji had a hand over his mouth, also trying to keep himself from laughing.

Koutarou ruffled his own hair, and put his head in his hands. “Gah! I seriously had no idea! I’m sorry!” Despite the fact that Yachi seemed to think him forgetting who she was was just funny, he felt seriously guilty. He tried his best to stay connected with people from back then, even when he’d moved away—and even though Yachi and he hadn’t really been friends back then, the fact that she had thought their current friendship was a continuation of what they’d had in high school made him feel terrible.

Even if he didn’t like to think about certain things, he seriously hated to forget.

* * *

Yachi left not long after, and Koutarou was looking noticeably put out. He was cradling the cup of tea Keiji had poured him in both hands, staring down into it listlessly, mouth pulled into a frown. His hair looked like it was drooping.

Across from him, Keiji sighed. “What’s wrong?”

Koutarou frowned even more, looking up at Keiji. “I still feel bad. I can’t believe I didn’t realize I knew Yachi back in freakin’ high school.”

“I don’t see what the big deal is. You were in your third year after all, and I’m pretty sure you only saw her a handful of times.” Keiji paused, considering his words. “And she evidently never brought it up, either. It’s not your fault.”

Koutarou shrugged, taking a quick sip of his tea before continuing, “Eh. She probably never brought it up ‘cause she knew from Tsukki that I had to quit volleyball. And I mean... that kinda makes it a touchy subject.” He looked away from Keiji, back down into his tea.

Keiji nodded understandingly. Quitting volleyball had taken quite the emotional toll on Koutarou at the time, and Keiji knew it still bothered him in the present day.

Koutarou continued, “I just... I know I shouldn’t feel this bad about it but I just do. I try to still keep tabs on everyone from high school, hell, even university even though I kinda hated it. So when I forget someone like that, I just feel kinda shitty. Like, how would I feel if someone forgot about me? I don’t know, It’s weird.”

Keiji nodded again mechanically, but felt an icy pain deep in his chest. He knew for a fact that some of that pain at the thought of being forgotten originated in his and Koutarou’s breakup, and the guilt ate at him. He wanted to assure Koutarou that throughout the time they hadn’t been in contact he’d thought about him nearly every day—but that would have been far too embarrassing, and _far_ too revealing about his current emotional state.

Swallowing, he forced himself to give a serviceable response, “You’re a pretty social person, so I suppose I’m not surprised.” He tacked on a quip for good measure. “You’re right though, it is a tad weird.”

Koutarou huffed, sticking out his tongue petulantly. Keiji stared at him blankly, hiding his smile as he took a sip of his tea.

Eventually, Koutarou shrugged again, looking everywhere but Keiji’s face as he continued. “Especially ‘cause lately... I guess I’ve been thinking about back then a lot.”

“Really?”

Koutarou ran a hand through his hair quickly, movements becoming more erratic. “It’s kinda hard not to, man! I mean, my first boyfriend just shows up on my doorstep after I haven’t seen him in forever! Of course it’s gonna bring a bunch of shit back! Like yeah, I talk to the guys and Yukie occasionally, but having you around now is just, you know...”

The air between the two quickly changed. In the more recent months that they had become close in, it had been an unspoken rule that neither was to acknowledge their previous relationship outright. Keiji could see the guilt at bringing it up on the other’s face, but he chose to stay quiet.

He was afraid that if he spoke, they would talk about it—and if they talked about it, he would have no idea what to say.

After another bout of silence, Koutarou began awkwardly, “Ha, I mean... I bet you’ve probably been thinking about back then, too.”

“... Yes. I have.”

Koutarou suddenly barked a laugh, filling up the awkward quiet with his boisterous tone. “It’s weird though. ‘Cause it’s honestly just mostly silly volleyball stuff I’m remembering. All the training camps, nationals... Fuck, I seriously miss it.”

“Don’t talk like that. You don’t want to peak in high school.”

Koutarou laughed again, and narrowed his eyes as he smirked, “Keiji! I’m not even close to peaking, just you wait! I’m gonna destroy that entrance exam and get my degree, damnit!” He slapped the table loudly for emphasis, causing both of their cups of tea to splash up slightly.

Keiji smiled. “Don’t worry, I believe it.”

Koutarou took a long sip of his tea, finishing it off. He smacked his lips, and sighed as he set the cup back down on the table. He rested one hand on his elbow, still smirking as he looked at Keiji. “And it’s also rough, ‘cause like. I’m also remembering a bunch of embarrassing shit too. _Like_ my first kiss... or my first time...” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively; the awkward air between the two had dissolved into some sort of twisted teasing contest.

Keiji shut his eyes as the embarrassing memories came rushing back. “Oh gods, no. Stop.”

“Pfft, right! It makes me cringe just thinking about it. I think the most cringeworthy thing is when I utterly failed to confess to you the first time, though. Like. Completely wiped out with that one.”

Keiji cocked a brow, curious. “Wait, what?”

Their actual getting together was the result of a long, complicated conversation they had had when Keiji was a third year. Neither had quite “confessed” to the other, so Keiji was curious to figure out what Koutarou was referring to.

Especially since Keiji had failed to confess to the other before they had gotten together as well.

“_Ohhhh no_, if you don’t remember I don’t want you to!” Koutarou shook his head aggressively, waving his hands in front of his face defensively.

“Tell me.”

“Nooooo...” Koutarou whined, and Keiji could see the beginning of a blush forming on his cheeks.

Keiji reached for his phone. “Tell me or I’ll start sending my own embarrassing memories of you to Konoha and Yukie. And maybe now Yachi-san, too.”

“Noooooo! Okay fine!” Koutarou pouted, before leaning forward on the table, head cradled by his arms. As he continued, he spoke with his hands— something he tended to do when he was flustered.

“We were like, at a training camp or something, and I was trying to explain that I swung both ways. _Trying_, anyway. And that was supposed to lead into me being like, _hey, I’m into you, by the way_, but then you pretty much told me you were gay and I just completely froze. Like uh, _that wasn’t supposed to happen_.”

He ruffled his hair, frown deepening. “Looking back on it is so frustrating too, it was literally exactly what I wanted but I just—“ He blew a raspberry to express his disappointment.

Keiji stifled a laugh, and pitied their teenage selves for a moment. Rather than being upset at the revelation, he just felt chagrined; all that grief, and for what? Relaxing his posture, Keiji sighed, smiling. “Mmm. Well, to be honest, I almost confessed to you during nationals.”

Koutarou shot up in his seat, his eyebrows contorting into a look of disbelief.

Keiji just nodded, and shrugged. “I was hyped up on the adrenaline after one of the games and almost ended up telling you when you hugged me. I had to stick my fist in my mouth to stop myself.”

“Awwwwwww! That’s kinda cute!” Koutarou’s goofy grin was in full force.

“Not cute. Cringy. It makes me wonder how anyone even liked me back then. I was awkward.”

Keiji looked away from Koutarou as he made the vulnerable admission, and he swallowed nervously as the pause in conversation that followed stretched into a long silence. When he finally brought himself to look at the other, Koutarou was looking at him softly, hunched over the table slightly to be closer to him. Koutarou rested his elbows on the table again, speaking with confidence. “I mean, I’m biased, but I liked you. And everyone on the team liked you! Hell, they still like you—they were all super excited when I added you to all the group chats we’ve still got goin’ on.”

At that, Keiji felt a warm feeling of reassurance deep in his chest. The sudden re-introduction of so many people into his life had dredged up old feelings of inadequacy and insecurity, and Koutarou had managed to sweep them away with a single sentence.

“...And besides, were both a little cringy in high school! Have you seen some of the pictures of me from back then?! I can’t believe I used to wear my hair like that!”

“Koutarou... Your hair still looks like that.”

“What?! No it doesn’t! It doesn’t! Keijiiiii!!!!!”

* * *

Later that night, Koutarou got a series of messages from Yachi on Line; however, he was asleep, and ended up missing them altogether.

> **Yacchan:** hey!! bokuto-kun 0u0  
**Yacchan:** ??  
**Yacchan:** aw okay, it is actually pretty late :<  
**Yacchan:** i just wanted to ask… akaashi-san is that guy you dated in uni right? tsukki told me one time, but honestly i didn’t believe him  
**Yacchan:** after today though, i kinda see it :> you guys are really cute together!! good luck!!  
**Yacchan:** …  
**Yacchan:** uhhhhh… maybe i shouldn’t have said that :<  
**Yacchan:** [The previous messages were deleted by the user.]  
**Yacchan:** oops sorry sent them to the wrong person nvm!! >w<

Koutarou seemed like an oblivious person, but was surprisingly perceptive. Yachi knew that he probably realized already that on some level, the majority of his interactions with Keiji were just thinly-veiled attempts at flirting— but she definitely wasn’t about to bring that to his attention. She had enough relationship drama going on as it was, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for reading, i love u <3 leave a kudos and a comment if u can, i seriously cherish every one. i reread the comments when i feel down lol
> 
> also i should fix the html but i REALLY don't feel like it just read it on mobile like it was intended lolol uwu


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